


ruin our friendship

by Osmo_sis



Series: longing for a girl - ineffable wives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU - girls girls girls, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Azira's a pastor's daughter, Chastity, Cheating, F/F, F/M, Fat Shaming, First Time, Gabriel's the boyfriend her father chose for her, I live for that setting, I wanted this to be a one-shot, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Pining, Religious Conflict, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Smut, abusive toxic relationship, baby lesbians, but it kinda escalated, cheesy prom scenes, dubious consent????, everyone is so anxious omg, g-g-g-gay denial, ineffable girlfriends, oh yes you thought you'd escape the inevitable lesbian melodrama?, stupid jokes, teenage angst, whoops, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osmo_sis/pseuds/Osmo_sis
Summary: "'Gabriel’s going to propose to me at prom.'Crowley tore her eyes wide open before she would erupt in nervous laughter.'Ha ha, you devout Christians sure know how to get it on-''Antonia!' Azira cried out, fidgeting with her chastity ring. 'He said I wouldn’t be needing this one for any longer soon!'Immediately, Crowley’s laughter died on her lips."-Azira maybe didn’t know about God’s ineffable plan for her life or how to do taxes herself, but she knew for sure that fantasizing about your best friend while involuntarily making out with your boyfriend was quite the precarious issue.Or: Two oblivious idiots dream about ruining their friendship because they want to be lovers instead. Inspired by "Jenny" by the Studio Killers aka.THE lesbian pining song





	1. more than friends

**Author's Note:**

> _I wanna ruin our friendship_   
_We should be lovers instead_   
_I don’t know how to say this_   
_’Cause you’re really my dearest friend_

**Tonia♥, 7:03 pm.:** angel

**Tonia♥, 7:03 pm.:** angel

**Tonia♥, 7:03 pm.:** oi, angel

**Tonia♥, 7:04 pm.:** azira

**Tonia♥, 7:04 pm.:** angle

**Tonia♥, 7:04 pm.:** *angel

**Tonia♥, 7:04 pm.:** azzzzy

**Tonia♥, 7:04 pm.:** Azira Fell

**Tonia♥, 7:05 pm.:** are you ghosting me

**Tonia♥, 7:05 pm.:** or more like

**Tonia♥, 7:05 pm.:** holy-ghosting

**Tonia♥, 7:05 pm.:** BAHAHAHA

**Tonia♥, 7:07 pm.:** bc ur christian u know 

**Tonia♥, 7:10 pm.:** ANGEL

Not with the best will in the world could Azira continue to pretend she overheard the tenacious buzzing of her phone. 

At the impending doom that was tonight’s visitor, though, she knew she should rather make haste to finish her cooking. 

And yet, tempting anticipation for who could be spamming her message inbox so eagerly made her wipe her wet hands on the cotton of her baby-blue apron and take her phone. 

A beaming smile made her lips curl. 

**Azira, 7:11 pm.:** Oh dear.

**Azira, 7:11 pm.:** Are you alright?

Almost immediately, the response popped up. 

**Tonia♥, 7:11 pm.:** I don’t know, depends

**Tonia♥, 7:12 pm.:** are we going to meet up tonight

**Tonia♥, 7:12 pm.:** ???

As if their exchange would be a real, face-to-face conversation, Azira gasped a little, unsure how to respond. 

Her thumbs hovered motionlessly over her keyboard when her father called out for her from the dining room. 

“Darling, hurry up, will you? Gabriel will be over soon!” 

“Yes, yes,” she mumbled, only then realizing he couldn’t have possibly heard her and shouting it again, “why certainly!”

Sighing deeply, she let her fingers rush over the screen.

**Azira, 7:14 pm.:** I don’t quite know. You see, Gabriel’s coming over for dinner.

Reason told her to undeviatingly, consequently turn off her phone and get a _bloody wiggle on_, but Crowley’s reply appeared faster than her heart could decently make peace with rationality. 

**Tonia♥, 7:14 pm.:** first off

**Tonia♥, 7:14 pm.:** ew

**Tonia♥, 7:14 pm.:** second of all

**Tonia♥, 7:14 pm.:** look at this meme and tell me it’s not us 

**Tonia♥, 7:15 pm.: soup.jpg**

She couldn’t help herself but chuckle in the most delightful yet offended way only Crowley could make her laugh. 

The picture’s template showed a husband and wife in bed, back to back, and intensely brooding; the twist of it all was that Crowley had exchanged the strangers’ faces with badly cropped out pictures of her and Azira. 

While Crowley’s speech bubble, representing the woman’s thoughts, said something like “_Oh, my angel is probably thinking about something really sophisticated and intelligent._” Azira, as the man, was just musing whether cereal could be actually considered soup. 

**Tonia♥, 7:15 pm.:** I still can’t believe you said that, you were so fucking wasted that  
night

**Tonia♥, 7:16 pm.:** No one:  
Azira: sO cErEaL iS bAsIcAlLy GaZpAcHo

**Azira, 7:16 pm.:** And I still stand by that. 

The sudden sound of the doorbell burst the sweet, pink gum bubble she was levitating in. In shock, Azira almost dropped her phone. 

“Darling? He’s here!”

“Just a second, dad!”

She typed faster than she ever did before, wondering if thumbs could cramp. 

**Azira, 7:16 pm.:** I have to get cracking, I can’t text right now. Same time, same place as always. Is that alright with you?

**Tonia♥, 7:16 pm.:** I’ll bring something to eat

There was no control over her eyes softening in a smitten glow. 

**Azira, 7:16 pm.:** Ohhh, bless your soul! ♥

**Tonia♥, 7:16 pm.:** you can’t bless something that doesn’t exist

To that snide, self-deprecating remark Azira wanted to reply that Crowley, indeed, had the mushiest, softest, cottony soul to ever exist on God’s green earth, but an approaching pair of eyes caused a short circuit in her head. 

The last thing she was capable of doing was to delete the chat with trembling fingers. 

Azira bashfully fluttered her eyelashes at Gabriel. 

Her heart felt like a steam roller against her chest. 

“Pleasure to see you!” she greeted him, hiding her sweaty hands and her phone in them behind her back. 

He wouldn’t just simply jump on the bandwagon and put on a polite act, no. 

Gabriel’s gaze drilled itself into her defenceless eyes; the sceptical, violet shimmer in them was already shaming her for something he couldn’t know about. 

Only then, his face lit up into a constrained smile, and he curled his index finger, dictating her to instantly show him what she tried to utterly unsuccessful hide from him. 

Obviously accepting no backtalk. 

Azira hadn’t even noticed how she subconsciously had held her own breath until a terribly ashamed exhale escaped her. 

Sheepishly, she held her phone towards him. 

Of course, he took it and unlocked it without any restraint. 

“Oh, _sunshine_,” he clicked his tongue in a disappointed way, and this was the moment dizzying heat hit her cheeks like thousands of tiny, hot needles pricking her skin.

She had forgotten to leave the chat. 

“I thought we had mutually agreed on you limiting your contact to...that person,” Gabriel sighed with a smile so forced, he looked like he was explaining the basic mathematics to a degenerate monkey. 

Well. Actually, only Gabriel agreed on that. 

Gabriel was the only one who _mutually_ agreed on things for both of them. 

As often happening, the profound awareness of that came creeping up in Azira’s thoughts, but this was one of the rare occasions she found a little bit of courage inside her to speak up. 

Presumably because this wasn’t merely about her.  
It was about her friendship with Crowley, _that person_ he referred to as if he was talking about Voldemort or a leper put under quarantine. 

“You don’t actually know her, Gabriel,” she said under her breath and managed to look up. “At heart, she is a good person. One of the _kindest_ I know, actually.”

His scoffing laugh made her shift her gaze back to her feet. 

“I don’t see much of that. The thing I do see though is her smoking with those other pansies behind the garbage bins in our lunch breaks.” He raised her chin with his finger. “Do you really want to be associated with smoking lesbians and…those folks?” 

Smoking _hot_ lesbians, her head corrected, and Azira rolled her eyes at that. 

Her expression fluctuated into a forlorn, distressed replica of her prior content when Gabriel still held her face, stubbornly waiting for an answer. 

She slightly whimpered under his grip for which he gave her a demeaning chuckle, letting go of her. 

“Don’t make that face, sunshine. I hate to see you upset. Let’s go, your dad is waiting for us.” 

Relieved, although still visibly nervous, she took off her apron and fumbled with her fingers. The sudden jump, the rapid high and low of her emotions in just a few minutes made her head hurt, and the still unprocessed sight of Gabriel dried out her insides. 

She cleared her throat in a pathetic attempt of creating self-confidence. 

“Do you mind giving me my phone back?” 

“Ah, sure.” 

It felt like a trap when he would cooperate with her wish and stick it towards her. 

Just when her fingertips brushed the phone case, he pulled it back again, taking oddly mischievous pleasure from her confused look. 

“You haven’t even kissed me once yet,” he accused her and let the phone dangle in front of her eyes. 

The trap snapped.

Her toes curled tensely in her terry cloth slippers. 

One time, Crowley had witnessed this manipulative behaviour from Gabriel in school. 

It has been a similar situation, subliminally forcing Azira to kiss him in front of everyone even though he knew about Azira’s perception of public display of affection. 

She immediately wanted her to break up with him, even suggested doing it herself for Azira and ending it with a bang. A hit in the groin preferably, in Crowley’s case.

But Azira had allayed her wrath, reassured her that everything was fine. 

Nothing had happened, the world kept spinning and Gabriel was still demanding to kiss her right now. 

She swallowed the memory, the lump in her throat, and raised herself on tiptoes to fleetingly peck Gabriel’s lips. 

All of it felt hard. 

Narrow lips amidst prominent, angular features and a sharp, straight nose touched her face, and it felt so hard. 

Gabriel was an objectively very attractive man, a fact Azira couldn’t ever deny. Well-groomed, neatly styled, and an aromatic touch of expensive cologne, musk and cinnamon, followed his every movement. 

It wasn’t like she’d overlooked his handsome appearance, or that hard, slender shapes didn’t particularly strike her interest. Oh, en contraire, they did! 

He was just _different_ from her longing. 

“That didn’t feel like you actually want it back, huh?” he teased her about the touch that could be hardly considered a kiss. “We’ll talk about that later.” 

Unclear whether to take this as a lewd promise or a threat – the fine line between those two was a tangled mess in itself for her anyway – she nodded, but still gasped in surprise as he handed it to her after all. 

Azira quickly put it away, finished the salad she was in the process of making beforehand, and together they went into the dining room where her father was already waiting for them. 

_Lovebirds_, he called them, playfully admonishing them for making him wait. 

She tried her best to smile about it. 

There had been another reason other than loving kindness for why Crowley had promised Azira to bring food to their clandestine meeting: 

Gabriel meticulously watched over everything she was eating. 

He was the decretory authority over all her meals, their contents and portions. (Well, at least those he caught sight of.) 

Constantly, he was pointing out how Azira was a pretty girl beyond doubt, but how pretty she could be once she’d fulfil her entire, God-given potential, concealing all of this as an altruistic act of love and care. 

So, it was nothing new for her to watch Gabriel scoop some salad onto her plate and fill her glass with a generous amount of water. 

While Azira desperately stifled every expression of horror she internally experienced, her father watched them in fond awe. 

He leaned onto his walking frame next to him to shift in his chair. 

“I’m so happy to see someone so righteous and kind care so lovingly for my daughter, Gabriel,” he went on as if said daughter wasn’t present in this very room. 

Gabriel laughed, pleasantly flattered. 

Crowley once said that probably every time Gabriel laughed, a fairy loses its wings; awfully incorrectly, yet fittingly quoting Peter Pan. 

Her father went on with his praise, and Gabriel sucked it in like a dry sponge in the Sahara, sprinkled with water drops. 

“It’s just good to know she’s in good hands. The good hands of a good Christian boy, that is.” 

He couldn’t possibly know that the proclaimed good Christian boy had his so-called good hands shoved under Azira’s skirt, already groping her knee and tramping further…

Softly, she pushed them away, perfectly carrying off her tension. 

“I just know Azira’s mother would have been so proud to see her getting _married_ to such a dashing young lad.”

She froze. 

“M-Married?” 

A cherry tomato blocked her airway, and she coughed. 

Choking on it, on air, on this entire, ridiculously terrifying situation. 

“Isn’t it a bit early to talk about things like this?” 

The biggest, sweetest yet _desperate_ smile she could possibly give rise to appeared on her face. 

It must have been a joke after all. 

He couldn’t possibly be suggesting she and Gabriel would get married in the near future. 

_Ever._

The two men just grinned knowingly at each other. 

“Right, we didn’t even have dessert yet,” Gabriel just kept on teasing and slightly nudged Azira’s thigh before tending to his plate again.

As Gabriel and Reverend Fell picked up a new conversation about Gabriel’s plans of studying theology right with the beginning of the new semester, Azira’s mind went blank. 

Empty and overflowing with incoherent fragments of thoughts, _fears_, all at once. 

Numbing void and ear-splitting clamour punched her in the face with joined forces. 

Once more, her knee shuddered under Gabriel’s touch. 

Doleful eyes reflected in the glass in front of her. 

“You’re still owing me a proper kiss, sunshine”, Gabriel purred into her ear when they had finished dinner and had gone upstairs to _unwind_ in her room. 

Her hair stood on end as his hot breath tickled her neck, traces of the one glass of wine he had consumed sweetly burning on her skin. 

There’s always been a distinct difference in Gabriel titling her as his _sunshine_ and Crowley calling her _angel_. 

Obviously, both were pet names by people she loved – was or wasn’t supposed to love – and yet they pulled her heartstrings in divergent ways. 

Gabriel used it as a gentle reminder. 

A sugar-coated indication of his possession; the light of his life Azira could be with one or two small changes. 

It made her feel short next to him, powerless, completely and utterly at his mercy. 

In entirety, something she didn’t want to be. 

_Angel_, however, the mere sound of it leaving Crowley’s lips, the mix of an affectionate tease and genuine, deep connection between them, made her heart flutter since hearing it for the very first time. 

Crowley claimed it stood for everything Azira was, for everything Crowley herself wasn’t. 

Electrifying tension went along with it, their opposites attracting and sparkling once they complemented each other. 

All of it was buried in two syllables, their long-lasting friendship, the bond, their profound trust in each other. The purest form of love there is. 

In _angel_, Azira found all it and would never get tired of hearing.

“Mh?” Gabriel hummed and let his thumb brush ever so tenderly over her upper lip, charming a soft tinge of redness out of her cheeks. 

Hesitantly, she bent over the small distance between them on the bed and pressed their lips together for another brief, chaste kiss, barely a graze. 

Amusement flickered in Gabriel’s darkened gaze. 

Strong, male hands grabbed her by her hips and pulled her closer to Gabriel, her chest faintly touching his chiselled pectoral muscles. 

This time, he kissed her. Much more fervently, hungry, and again, _demanding_. 

She knew or at least was almost positively convinced that Gabriel would never physically pressure her into intimacy if she’d actively put a stop to it. That’s just nothing he would do. 

She never did, though. 

Yes, didn’t she owe him? As his girlfriend, as his partner, didn’t she owe him to kiss him? To enjoy intimate togetherness, his presence, his touch? 

Didn’t she owe her father to at least _try_ to satisfy his expectations? At any rate try loving a man, a good Christian man, as he said? To try even though it never naturally occurred to her when thinking about her future? 

You couldn’t possibly judge something you didn’t give a try, could you? 

A cold, nasty sensation crept over her spine as his tongue slid into her own mouth. 

Maybe she just hadn’t tried hard enough yet. 

Most certainly, Crowley would call Azira out for this buffoonery if she knew about this preoccupation. 

She’d slap some sense into her, verbally, and create a multilayered PowerPoint presentation about the self-inflicted toxicity of this behaviour, just for the dramatic effect. Some spinning, blinking animations here and there. 

Azira chuckled into the kiss, immediately frowning. 

This wasn’t the right time to be thinking about her best friend, _no_, absolutely inadequate. 

Yet, she couldn’t stop.

There was something hellish about this vicious cycle of thoughts: The more she desperately tried to refrain from thinking about Crowley, the more she did and in turn, made her feel the need to suppress again. 

And the more Azira contemplated how inappropriate it would be to be thinking about Crowley in a similar context to this situation, in an _intimate, salacious_ way, the more did her imagination bloom in the most diverse directions of her poor mind. 

It wasn’t until flaming red curls appeared in front of her, until Gabriel’s eyes meeting hers shifted into fluent, mesmerizing amber that she realized her fantasy played a cruelly seductive, immoral game with her. 

“_Oh, angel_,” the phantasm of Crowley purred into her ears, half-naked as only black, lacy stockings embraced her gazelle-like legs. 

Shamefaced, Azira pressed her eyes shut and shook her head, although she couldn’t contain guilty gasps of overwhelmingly flowing excitement as the figure gently held her cheeks to make her _watch_.

“_Look at me, angel. You want to, don’t you?_.” 

She immediately regretted opening her eyes again because once she caught sight of Crowley’s slender body, of this figura serpentinata, exhibiting this alluring spinal pose for her and her only, the picture of it perpetually burned itself in her memory. 

Crowley took Azira’s hesitant hands and guided them to her body where they would rest on her slim hips; a warm shiver rolled over Azira’s skin. Pleasant dizziness distorted her perception as her hands were led further upwards, as her hot fingertips gingerly brushed Crowley’s petite bosom. 

An amused chuckle encouraged Azira to fully cup Crowley’s breasts, to give those small, rosy-white apples between her hands a curious, slow squeeze. Between her fingers, her delicate nipples blossomed through, and a wanton moan escaped Crowley as she began to softly pinch them, rub them with the tips of her thumbs. 

The mere thought of it, a premonition of what Crowley’s most luscious sounds of pleasure could sound like, chased tingling sensations over Azira’s thighs and she felt her own legs shiver in sweet arousal. 

“_Angel, oh, my angel._”

When the illusion crawled towards her and leapt into Azira’s lap, she pressed her lower body against the chubby belly, lustfully sighing at the friction of Azira’s clothing and the already glistening wetness between her legs. 

The air rustled for tension, for white flashes running for Azira’s eyes. 

Suddenly, Crowley’s hands, lips were all over her body; tugging at her blouse, biting, kissing, ghosting over the newly displayed skin. 

With every touch, every kiss, the unbearably intense throbbing grew in Azira, making her whimper for more, for more exchange of contact, more bare skin to rub against, for more of Crowley. 

A jolt of heat rushed through her when she finally, oh finally, sensed fingers dancing their way up her skirt and the insides of her thighs. 

Dancing and drawing circles on her skin, on the soaked fabric between them and the pulsating need controlling her body. 

And just when they playfully tugged at the band of her slip and would painfully slowly vanish behind it, her breath stopped and – it all crashed. 

“Oh, how you’re dripping for me, _sunshine_.” 

She squinted as if she was staring directly into the sun. 

He pressed her soft hands against his own crotch where she could feel a hardening bulge yearning for her touch. 

By the time he unzipped his pants, all prior arousal had subsided into another, primal instinct: _Fear._

“Gabriel!” she shrieked scandalized and pulled his hands out of her underwear with newly found, shock-induced strength, “we can’t do this, we really can’t!”

“Let’s just touch each other through clothes then!”

“No!” 

An odd flash of pride hit her when she managed to articulate her disfavour so directly and blunt.

“One thing will lead to another, and soon we’ll find ourselves in premarital, vile demeanour,” she explained, carrying more conviction than someone who actually believes these words could. 

To emphasise her statement, she held her hand towards his face. At the sight of the golden ring on her pinky finger, his face softened and he sighed. 

“You’re right. What good did all the waiting to indulge in carnal desires right now?”

Slightly shivering, she watched Gabriel place a kiss on her chastity ring. 

“I probably should call myself lucky to call a girl so pure and virtuous mine,” he mumbled, just to smirk and approach her ear so he could whisper right into it. His lips, swollen from their many kisses, brushed her earlobes. “But it’s so hard to keep from ripping your clothes off and making you scream all night long. I’ve never seen you so hot and bothered, it’s driving me _insane_.” 

“Oh,” was the only sound she could make without actually screaming – but for entirely different reasons. 

“Besides,” he continued, still caressing her ring, “you won’t be needing this one any longer soon anyway, hm?” 

It’s actually never been harder to contain any screams; her throat ached under the sheer pressure of it. 

She smiled awkwardly, flames flickering behind her eyes. 

“In the meantime, you keep on dieting, right?” He nudged her tummy in a humiliating way. “We want you to fit into your dress, don’t we?” 

The hidden implication of a wedding dress made her eyes open wide. 

“…”

“Your prom dress, of course. You’ll love it, I’m sure. I spent a lot of time choosing it.” 

“O-Oh…yes, certainly.” 

“You look so excited about this,” he laughed, “now, there’ll be enough time to be thinking about _other_ dresses some other day. I should be going now, otherwise, your father will become suspicious.” 

“Sure, err…” 

“Perfect. I’ll be seeing you on Sunday morning then!” 

“Ah, yes, Sunday…” 

In some quick movements, he adjusted his hair and clothes, fluttered a last, cold kiss onto her lips and then left. 

Azira didn’t know for how long she was sitting on her bed, blankly staring at the door he just went through. 

Maybe hours, days, years. 

More probably just a few minutes. 

No matter for how long, it felt like an eternity in which she had forgotten how to speak. 

When she regained the ability, the first sound she made was hoarse and raw and united everything she was feeling in this very moment. 

“_Shit._.”

Every further cumbersome kick into the bicycle’s pedals made her pant and breath heavier and heavier until her face was blazing redder than the bike’s brake light in the night. 

Exclaiming with relief as someone would only do at the sight of the triumphant return of the Messiah Himself, Azira finally made it the entire way uphill. The last rest of her path that separated her and the idyllic forest lookout went a little downhill again, so she let herself idly roll down. Her tense legs immediately thanked her for that brief relaxation, and the arising breeze of refreshing summer’s night wind cooled her down again. 

From afar, she could see a black Bentley parked in the grass next to the gazebo. 

Joyful anticipation incited her to pedal off with her last few strains of strength, and soon, she found herself putting her bike next to Crowley’s car. 

Crowley herself was already standing inside the pavilion, lighting a cigarette and dreamily puffing the smoke into the clear night sky. 

Azira let her bike bell jingle and immediately, Crowley turned around to face her, a little startled by the sudden sound. 

It was beyond Azira’s comprehension of how Crowley could shine so brightly in the night’s dark. Everything about her was glowing; from the long copper locks framing her narrow face to her fiery-golden eyes flickering like a candle in the wind and competing with the glimmering smoke between her lips. 

Azira’s stupid, earlier internal comment reappeared in her thoughts, and with it came the sheer mass of pictures of Crowley her imagination had made up, burying her like an avalanche under it. 

For a brief moment, she couldn’t move over how ashamed she was. 

“Do you want to make me come over or what? You’re late already, quit playing games!” Crowley jeered and beckoned her over. 

Baffled, Azira nodded and closed the gap between them. 

Of course, it was absolutely impossible and still, Azira was afraid Crowley could read her thoughts, her _filthy, improper_ thoughts, if she looked into her eyes for too long. 

“You okay?” Crowley asked Azira and blew a cloud of smoke into her face when she wouldn’t answer.

The blonde sighed. She didn’t know where to start, actually. 

“Oh, yes. Do you mind sharing a cigarette with me, dear?” 

Crowley’s glance scrutinized her sceptically, but then she took the just begun cigarette out of her mouth and held it towards Azira to lit another one. 

“Sharing is caring,” she imitated Azira and stuck out her tongue. 

Azira gladly took it, pleasantly shuddering as her lips grazed over the red ring of lipstick Crowley had left on the cork tip. 

She closed her eyes as she let the smoke waft deeply into her lungs and breathed it out again. 

Did she really want to be _associated with smoking lesbians_?

There was almost a little snicker escaping her. 

Crowley quietly watched her, raising an eyebrow when Azira finished it untypically fast. 

Usually, Azira would take all the time in the world for her little, earthly pleasures, savouring every last drag to its ultimate end. 

“Huh, it’s been one of those evenings, angel?” 

Cringing over how painfully obvious she was making her own discomfort, Azira bit her lips and ignored the statement. 

Instead of answering, she let her bag pack slip from her shoulders, opened it and presented a closed bottle of wine to her best friend. 

“Can I tempt you to some Communion wine?”

A shit-eating grin emerged on Crowley’s face and she took the bottle from Azira’s hands to inspect it, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Ohoho, what’s going on? Does my bad influence finally come to fruition?” 

“Oh, shush it. My father accidentally ordered the wrong wine. He said that it’s too tasty to actually embody the sacrifice of Christ.” She got it back, opened it and took a big sip. 

Fruity bitterness moistened her tongue. “He won’t miss it.” 

“You know I wholeheartedly love every spark of teenage rebellion in you,” Crowley laughed a little and also took a few gulps, “but what’s going on with you?”

Azira’s heart dropped down to her knees. 

She desperately needed to talk to someone about this or otherwise, she would choke on her asphyxiating anxiety, brutally constricting her chest and throat. 

But then again, she felt so utterly speechless with shame. 

The corners of her eyes burned faintly. 

“Gabriel’s going to propose to me at prom.” 

Crowley tore her eyes wide open before she would erupt in nervous laughter. 

“Ha ha, you devout Christians sure know how to get it on-” 

“_Antonia!_” Azira cried out, fidgeting with her chastity ring. “He said I wouldn’t be needing this one for any longer soon!” 

Immediately, Crowley’s laughter died on her lips. 

“Shit, you’re being serious?” 

As if the world wasn’t already spinning in front of Azira’s eyes, Crowley grabbed her by the shoulders, and the simple touch was enough to veil a dizzy haze over her. 

“What are we going to do???”

The fact that Crowley rated this situation as a _we_ problem was almost endearing to Azira if there wasn’t, well, a problem. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I know!” Crowley announced, huffing sarcastically and tightening her grip on Azira. “You’ll woman up and finally get rid of this wanker!”

Azira didn’t even know where her lungs took the air from to produce such a deep, weary sigh. 

“You should have heard my father. He’s extremely fond of Gabriel, you wouldn't believe it.”

“If he’s digging him so much, your dad could just marry him instead, how’s that for a solution?” 

“…Crowley.” 

“Don’t you dare roll your pretty eyes at me like that. I’m not any more ridiculous than this situation already is. It’s 2019 and you’re getting married off.”

“I’m not getting married off!” Azira protested and shook Crowley’s hands from her, although she missed the contact the second it broke off. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

“Oh, _angel_, poor little, naïve angel,” Crowley clicked her tongue, “we both know how this will go. They already chose the wedding cake toppers. Your sweetheart has taken this to his head, and you always let him have it.”

“That’s not true…”

“Well, nice, then let’s call him right now and you break up with him this instant.” 

“Over the phone? Oh, please, I do have at least some morals!”

“Right, right. Like you could look into his eyes with a straight face and manage to dump his ass. Dream on.” 

It was unbearably upsetting how right Crowley was about all of this. 

Trying to create some warmth in vain, Azira rubbed her arms and looked aside. 

“He, my father, he just…He went on about how proud mom would have been.” 

“Your mom would’ve wanted you to be happy if-“

Crowley broke off in mid-sentence and sighed instead of twisting the knife any further in Azira’s wounds. White circles loomed on Crowley’s knuckles, and her nails painfully dug into her own hands. 

She could fill book pages with how much it hurt to see Azira flinch, sing one bittersweet ballad after another of what deeply shattering effect this sad twitch of her nose had on Crowley and fall onto her knees with the heavy, leaden weight of Azira’s expressive silence pushing down on her. She could, yet, she couldn’t. 

And the result, the result of this suppressed, severe throbbing in her chest nurtured by the plain incapability to _talk_, impregnated her thought and speech with nasty anger; giving birth to a hissing sneer Crowley hated herself for spitting into her angel’s face:

“This is _fucking_ nonsense. What are you going to do? Actually marry this bloke so your daddy doesn’t get a little cranky?”

Huffing, she threw the remains of her cigarette onto the pavilion’s floor and ground its butt under her heel. 

“Do you remember when all of this started? When you started seeing this shithead because your dad said so? You told me it would be just one date and that’s it. And then you said you’d stay his girlfriend for some weeks just so you say you tried out at least. Here we fucking are, two years later; him invading your privacy, reading your texts, letting you starve. We staged a damn vow of chastity for you so he wouldn’t touch you and now, now you want to marry him?”

Both anger and ache were riled up again by the dismal blear in Azira’s big blue eyes. Crowley threw up her hands in frustration. 

“You have to leave this behind you, Azira!”

“I don’t know how!”

The redhead gnashed her teeth, letting them flash in the dim moonlight. 

“We’ll gather your stuff, take the Bentley and go off together.” 

Azira’s heart skipped a beat.

“Go off to-…” A short-breathed pant escaped her lips, discontinuing the obvious, genuine process of contemplating about Crowley’s tempting offer. The intrigued glimmer of hope died in a slow blink of her eyes. “Tonia, that’s ridiculous.” 

“What you’re doing right now is ridiculous,” Crowley spat and wandered around the pavilion like a restless cat. “You don’t owe anyone shit. You don’t have to keep kissing your dad’s arse!” 

“He’s my father. He’s sick.” 

“You don’t have to respect people who don’t offer you the same respect. No matter who it is or how sick they are.” 

Azira folded her hands in front of her as if the calm gesticulation could conceal her emotional, inner turmoil. 

“You’re making it sound so easy. He’s got no one, just me.” 

“It’s not your fault your mom died. You don’t have to replace her”, Crowley raised her voice, but instantly became silent again. 

They both held their breath. 

This absolutely wasn’t the right time for an argument or proving how much better their own understanding of the secrets of adulthood was than the other’s. 

This should be the time in which Crowley would let Azira, her best friend and only angel on this corrupted ball of mud, know that she could count on her unconditional support. That she could trust her with anything, and that Crowley was willing to discreetly pay Gabriel a visit that would involve a gun, a shovel and a man-sized rubbish bag if Azira just asked nicely. 

“Hey, sorry,” Crowley sighed and approached Azira again, nudging the slightly shivering girl who relaxed straight away as the unpleasant tension between them burst, “I mean, I absolutely meant all the things I said, and we both know I’m right.” – Azira rolled her eyes – “But I didn’t want to yell at you. ‘S was kinda insensitive.”

“Don’t worry. I know it came from a place of love.” 

“Err, yes, right.” Crowley gulped and went to the other end of the pavilion to get to her own bag. She could feel Azira’s eyes on her, eyes full of so many questions their owner was too afraid to ask herself. 

After all those six years they’ve been friends for, silence between them grew far from being awkward. Sometimes, there was no need for words. Sometimes, there was just the sound of their synching breaths and crackling tension, and it was everything they needed. 

As short as it was, though, this silence was telling and it contained so many burning questions, so many restrained emotions and fears, Azira almost cried out for sheer joy when Crowley broke it off. 

“Look, I brought sushi for you.”

Maybe it wasn’t a cry, but Azira couldn’t hold back from laughing. Crowley joined her. How couldn’t she?

“Oh, I love you so much,” Azira hummed when looking into the black plastic tray, and clapped her hands together in a rush of relief and fondness. 

“Are you talking about sushi or me?” 

Azira blushed, constraining a smile. 

“I don’t think you’d like the answer.” 

Crowley snorted and slouched next to a pillar. 

“Yeah, I’d call myself lucky if I ever get myself someone who looks at me like you do at sushi.” 

Again, they fell silent. This time, pleasantly. 

The two friends sat down onto the pavilion’s small, white steps. 

While Crowley watched her, Azira carefully dipped her California rainbow roll into some soy sauce and then closed her eyes to entirely savour the fresh taste on her tongue that had felt terribly neglected this evening up until now. 

An obscene sound escaped her, but she couldn’t care. And Crowley, oh, she wouldn’t mind as well. 

In fact, she faintly smiled at her best friend who looked like she’d attend the Last Supper before her own execution. Soon, the smile shifted into a pale, nervous yet determined expression. Crowley rubbed her hands together like a fly soon to be swat dead. 

“You know that I love you, right angel?”

Azira swallowed hard.

“Of course, we’re best friends,” she mumbled and coughed a little on the rice sticking in her throat.

In a few swift movements, Crowley took the tray out of her hands, put it on the ground and grabbed for Azira to intertwine their fingers. She sighed deeply. 

“Take it from someone who genuinely loves you: Break up with him. As soon as possible. You’re so soft, you probably couldn’t reject him when he proposes, and in the end, you’d be married just because you didn’t want to scratch his ego.” 

“Ouch.” 

Encouraged by Azira’s chuckle, Crowley grew in confidence and boldness and started smirking. 

“And you know what that means. You’re becoming the precious wife of a pastor. You’ll be living the _dream_ of raising 7 children and only having boring missionary sex for the rest of your life.” 

Shining for amusement and shock likewise, Azira’s eyes opened wide. 

“Oh _God_, you’re right.” 

“Imagine jogging with him in Suburbia on Saturdays, at 6 am sharp. In cutesy little matching outfits.”

Azira pushed Crowley’s hands from her, a desperate smile on her lips. 

“You’re cruel.” 

“I hope so. Someone has to be.” 

It hit her when she leaned her head against Crowley’s sharp shoulder and a wave of warm serenity washed over her. 

Crowley was right. She had to put an uncompromising end to it. 

Otherwise, she wouldn’t study literature. 

She wouldn’t spend her 20s travelling the world with her best friend. 

She wouldn’t marry Crowley with 35 as they promised to each other as kids. 

She wouldn’t live the life she wanted with the person next to her right now. The person who caused sparkling fireworks to go off in her body just because she casually stroke Azira’s back.

The person she loved dearly. 

Azira wasn’t sure when exactly she fell in love with Antonia, but she knew the moment she had realized it. 

Some months ago, they had picnicked in the park when it suddenly had started to storm out of the blue. They had run away to seek shelter in Crowley’s car and when they had arrived it, Azira had realized she forgot her book in the pouring rain. And just when panic and frustration had begun to spread their fingers creeping over her, Crowley had pulled it out from her jacket. 

“_Little demonic miracle of my own_,” she had joked and started the car, but Azira had felt like the entire world was spinning too fast. Her thoughts had derailed, her heart had been pumping in an overwhelmingly chaotic pace, hot blood rushing into her cheeks and ears- 

Her entire body had been beaming for _love_, and she tried to stifle it ever since. 

She sighed and sat up straight again. 

They kept on talking, more specifically, Crowley kept on teasing her. They had a good share of laughing, bantering, maybe one joke or two at the expense of Gabriel…

“You know,” Crowley then said after taking the last sip out of the wine bottle, “we should really just run away and marry instead. We’d make a great team. I’ve been told we already look like a married couple.”

“Ha, right!” Azira laughed sweetly. “Who said that?”

Crowley sighed, unintelligible swearing under her breath. 

“Many people. Doesn’t matter.”

“Um…” 

A practical proposal, wasn’t it? 

Azira bit her lips. 

“Crowley-…”

“-Maybe we should go to some pub or something like that,” Crowley cut her off, and Azira held her breath, her words that would be spilling all over elsewise. 

“Oh. I suppose. But I’m afraid I’m not appropriately dressed for that occasion.” 

“That’s easily fixed, angel.” 

For a second, Azira wanted to protest since her statement had just served as a lazy excuse, but Crowley already went for Azira’s hair tie and gingerly opened the stiff ponytail. 

“It can’t be healthy to wear your hair like that, seriously. What happened to your natural curls?”

“Um…” Azira stuttered, her cheeks kissed by a rich red. “Gabriel wants me to straighten them out.” 

“Ironic.” 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” 

Her blond hair fell to her shoulders, framing her round face. 

Crowley let her hands tenderly brush through it, careful not to hurt her angel. 

“It’s a pity. Curls suit you. Almost make you look even more angelic. If that’s even possible.” 

“Shush it.” 

Another smirk appeared on Crowley’s lips and she released the platinum-blonde strands of hair to tend to Azira’s blouse. 

“How can you even breathe in this? Let’s open at least the first two buttons.” 

At first, Azira couldn’t react and she just watched her best friend slowly unbutton her shirt. 

Crowley’s hot breath of cigarettes and wine brushed over her collar bone. A little tremble in her fingers. 

Soon, the promised two buttons became three and Azira almost shrieked at the sight of the white ribbon of her bra reflecting in Crowley’s glasses. 

“Maybe not that much!”, Azira reprimanded her and immediately buttoned it up again. 

Crowley was thanking whoever was sitting above them for the fact that Azira couldn’t see her eyes. 

Her blood felt like boiling in her veins, sizzling in her ears with every accidental contact of skin. 

She cleared her throat. 

“And to top it all off, we need some lipstick! I think I got mine with me.” 

“You think such a bold colour would suit me?” Azira mused, tilting her head and fluttering her long eyelashes at Crowley. A soft blush on her sweet little nose. 

Azira couldn’t know what effect she had on her, Crowley thought. Or maybe, just maybe, this angel was the devil after all. 

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Obviously, Azira expected Crowley to take out her lipstick and give it to her. Even Crowley expected herself to do so. 

All the more did both women gasp in shock as Crowley pressed her lips onto Azira’s. 

Searing heat dawned, spreading from their lips all over their bodies until it reached every last corner. 

Azira was the first one to break it off. 

Staring at the frightened Crowley, just to reach for her cheeks and immediately pull her into another kiss. 

And this kiss had it all; heat and chilling sensations pricking their skin. Soft whimpers and an unbridled moan as Crowley gently bit her bottom lip. The wild spur of the moment and the release of years-long yearning. 

Nobody wanted it to end and yet, both couldn’t stand the growing, nagging question inside their hearts. 

When Azira slowly bend her face away from the kiss, Crowley’s gaze was still lingering on her puffy lips, rosy-red from her own lipstick.

“So,” she whispered, scared any other sound would cut through the galvanizing mist surrounding them, “does it suit me?” 

Crowley gently grazed Azira’s delicate lips with her thumb.

“Absolutely stunning.” 

It could have been so nice. 

Azira could have smiled stupidly, so stupidly in love, and leaned into another kiss, so many more. 

And maybe she would have if it wasn’t for her guilty conscience raising a warning finger along with familiar anxiety tut-tutting about her pathetic behaviour. 

As if stung by an adder, she got up. 

“I’m…sorry, so terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

Panic made Crowley’s face glow in a sallow white. She rose from the stairs, too. 

“No! _I_ am sorry, it’s my fault! I started it as a joke!”

Many things appeared as a joke to Crowley, as it seemed. 

Azira’s eyes started watering, and she frantically started blinking. 

In her entire life, she never wanted to run away from someone and embrace them ever so fervently at the same time. 

They started to wander around, nervously, and Azira felt like a helpless deer being chased in a battue. Next to the car, they came to stop. 

“No, no, I’m the one who’s got a boyfriend, I-“

Heavy pants interrupted her rant as Crowley kissed her again, hectically, thousands of quick kisses planted on Azira’s lips. 

“Please,” she huffed and tried to hold back Crowley’s face, hold back the landslide of kisses rolling over her, “Crowley, please…!” 

“Boyfriend!” Crowley exclaimed enraged and threw her face back. Of course, she wasn’t angry with Azira: She was angry with the entire world, this situation, this boyfriend and mostly, with herself for _fucking up everything_. “Say, Azira, when you two got together, you told me that you maybe could love him someday. And until today, you didn’t break up. So, what about that?”

“I-…” 

Azira was at a loss for words, taken aback by Crowley’s outburst. 

“He doesn’t love you! He only loves himself and this idea of you! Something you could be after he’s done with you! You shouldn’t settle for that!”

“You know it’s far more complicated than that…”

“I just know that you should give this chance of love to someone who adores you for who you are. Someone that’s delighted by your quirks, who listens to you ramble about your favourite books for hours, someone who unconditionally worships your beautiful body. Someone who _does_ love you.” 

In her burning eyes, the picture of Crowley blurred into watery circles of fiery colours. 

A faint sob. 

She needed to hear it, she needed it so bad. 

“And who should that someone be?”

“I really don’t know how to make it more obvious to you.” 

Crowley kissed the first hot tears from her cheeks. 

“Azira, I’m _madly_ in love with you. I’ve always been. If you have to settle for someone, if you maybe could love someone someday, please let it be me.” 

At this point, there was no sense in trying to contain any tears. 

And after all, after all those words of genuine love and affection that made Azira’s heart blossom in the most colourful ways, anxiety still found its way inside her. 

Clawing and gnawing, infesting her joy with festering self-doubt. 

_This couldn’t be true._

_It had to be another of those jokes._

Crowley could have every girl in this world. A thinner girl, a smarter girl that wouldn’t make her life this complicated. A girl more _deserving_ of her love. 

Her breath went flat. 

“That’s such a cruel thing to joke about-“

“_Angel, stop._” Crowley cupped her wet cheeks, plastering her painfully stuffed head with feather-light kisses. “In my entire life, I’ve never been more serious about anything. I loved you ever since I saw you singing in that angel costume in church when we were kids. I love watching you eat as if every bite would be your last. I love seeing your nose twitch when you’re brooding over something, just like right now. I know, I’m not a good Christian boy you can bring home and I’m certainly no one easy to be around, but-“

This time, Azira kissed her and she lost herself in Crowley’s lips, in this ineffable feeling around them as if they were shielded by Heaven’s light. 

Shielded even from their own thoughts, irrational restraint. 

For a second, Azira finally felt like she could let it all go. 

“Oh my dear, that’s exactly why I love you so much.” 

Crowley gasped, clutching at Azira’s arms. 

“Say it again,” she demanded, softly whispering. 

“I love you. I love, love, love you. Like I’ve never loved befo- ah!”

As her back hit the car’s cold body, she gasped but didn’t complain about being showered by relentless, passionate kisses. 

Without breaking a single one of them, she reached up and fumbled with Crowley’s glasses to prop them up, allowing their faces to close the last little distance. So did their bodies, and Crowley shoved her right leg between Azira’s, pressing her bony hips against Azira’s, welcoming them with cushiony softness. 

In memory of her vivid fantasies today, Azira almost scoffed at how incomparable they were to the actual sensations, of long, gentle fingers stroking her waist in mesmerizing reality- 

“_God_, you can’t possibly imagine how much I’ve wanted this,” Crowley purred. Her smoky, feminine voice tickling the shell of her ear made Azira’s knees shiver. 

Azira just kissed her eagerly as a response, wrapping her arms around Crowley’s neck. 

The crickets’ love songs accompanied the sounds of their heavy breathing, of their lips clashing together like two magnets. 

Humming, Azira tilted her head as Crowley kissed her jaw, down her neck, shoulders and arms, until she would rest her mouth on Azira’s hand. 

“Gabriel was right about one thing, though.” Crowley’s breath ghosted over her fingers, over this one specific piece of jewellery. “You really won’t need this ring for much longer. There won’t be anything chaste about you when we’re done.” 

All of Azira’s taught morals subverted themselves as she watched Crowley slowly strip off her ring, her promise of pureness to Gabriel and God, with her mere lips;  
as she witnessed the gold disappearing in Crowley’s mouth, just to see it displayed, pierced through the tip of her narrow, experienced tongue. 

Azira gulped. 

And soon, she found herself being pinned down onto the smooth leather of a back seat. 

_Oh Lord_, she thought, _show me how to say no to this._

He wouldn’t.


	2. ruin it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey, it's me again! So sorry it took me a while to finish this but??? seriously???? I was SO overwhelmed by the sheer mass of support???? Originally, I just wanted to write smut for the sake of it, but then this plot happened and- WELL YES THANK YOU SO MUCH. 
> 
> Actually, this is the first time I wrote smut in English, so, yeah, that's a tHING NOW OOF. 
> 
> Also, I decided to separate it into 3 chapters now since my ape brain kept adding stuff to the plot and ughhh. I promise, the next one will be the last one for good, and I'll finish it as soon as possible. 
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy ♥

_Oh Lord_, she thought, _show me how to say no to this._

He wouldn’t.

Azira prayed to God and she was the most relieved she’s ever been about His silence.

Crowley did also pray, but for entirely different reasons.

Antonia J. Crowley was no woman of god.

To be perfectly honest, she felt certain her feet would sizzle on any consecrated ground, crosses would begin to spin around as soon as she stepped into a church. 

She came from a family of anarchists with a severe allergy to anything related to religious and general authority; a family in which faith was a mere synonym for stupidity and ignorance.

For various reasons that in itself was utter bollocks to Crowley, to begin with the fact that the living proof was panting sweet little huffs underneath her. Crowley considered Azira one of the, if not _the_ most intelligent person she knew, especially regarding her hidden reflected, historical-critical understanding of the church and its problems. (Well, at the same time, Crowley also considered Azira the most stupid person she knew right after herself, but that just made them harmonise in shared incompetence.) Explaining that to her parents, though, difficult terrain.

On the other hand, Crowley sincerely believed that expecting any respect from Christians and such like towards your unfaith implicated you’d get your shit together and offered them just the same amount of respect for their faith.

So no, Antonia J. Crowley was no woman of god, yet still, she prayed.

She was thankful.

She was giving profuse thanks to god, to Satan, to _whoever_ was responsible for every littlest event in her measly, misspent life that had led up to this point of salvation; of holding this literal angel, _her_ angel, in her arms, this shining crown of creation. God must have had a great day when making Azira, Crowley was certain.

Gently pushing Azira onto the cold leather, Crowley was making sure she wouldn’t hit her head on anything in the poky back seat. And before she could even start her first attempt at straddling the chubby hips under her, Crowley uttered a curse at the confined space.

Picking up your girl to devour her in a spontaneous act of releasing heat and overflowing passion in your car always looked so easy and cool in movies.

Fumbling with the front seats from the behind in a desperate effort to push them forward was neither easy nor cool.

“Aw, come on…”

Azira propped up her upper body to watch Crowley’s intense, frantic movements, feeling her cheeks and mind in the process of a slow cool-down from their prior hasty kisses and touches. 

“Dear, are you-“

“Shush, I got this,” Crowley interrupted her rapidly, shoving Azira back into her previous position with one and finally, _oh so finally_, gripping the seat’s lever with the other hand. As soon as the obstacle was pushed out of her way, she immediately swooped down onto Azira again like she would do a plunge headfirst into a pool.

She had been waiting for six years, six _long_ years of yearning; six years in which the velvety rosy buds inside her had learnt to burst into a multitude of rich roseate petals in her lungs, suffocating her in the sweetest and most agonizing way.

Crowley’s lips fervently crashed down onto Azira’s; lips so soft, complying in a dolce balance of Azira’s overflowing fondness and Crowley’s fire.

With every fibre of her insatiable being, Crowley had been waiting for this day to come and she wouldn’t let it be ruined for all riches in the world.

Long, lithe fingers slithered over Azira’s stomach, up her thorax, cautious not to touch her chest, _not yet_. They would end up in her hair, curling and twisting strands of this golden floss silk around them and elicit a faint, relishing mewl from Azira with a soft tug.

One kiss was abruptly followed by another, and if things had been only up to Crowley, she wouldn’t have left them any time to breathe at all. Azira chuckled sweetly, cupping Crowley’s flushed face when they accidentally brushed teeth.

Crowley gulped.

Something deeply buried inside of her, something she had stuffed into a gazillion of boxes, secured with chains and locks, whose keys she had swallowed, and hid into the last dark, dusty corner of her brain- that dark thought came crawling back into her mind and it was screaming. An obnoxious pitch getting higher with every second Azira just silently locked eyes with her.

She was scared – well, Crowley wouldn’t use the term ‘scared’ per se, but she’s always been a master of the arts of self-delusion – that once the heat of the moment had subsided, Azira would come to her senses again. That once the fire cooled down, once Crowley’s many kisses she poured her entire heart’s content into stopped for a mere second, Azira would begin thinking again, _overthinking_, how this was going too fast, too soon, how this was happening in the first place.

And soon, she would realize this, Crowley, all of tonight’s confessions had been mistakes; how being in love with Crowley had been a mistake, how much easier it would just be to stick with Gabriel, an intelligent, promising man coming from a rich, Christian family.

How insufferable Crowley actually was, how exhausting, complicated, how unforgivable, undeserving of love and affection and, and-

Azira’s thumbs gently caressed Crowley’s cheekbones in slow circles.

Her eyes were shimmering in a mellow shine, flickering like the moon on a calm, sleeping lake.

Just for her.

Crowley’s heart felt like bursting in her chest, light as a feather and heavy as a block of lead at the same time.

Softly, Azira gasped as the first tear touched her fingertips.

“Fuck…”

“My dear, oh-…oh dearest, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m just-…” Crowley mumbled, squinting her eyes closed as Azira’s grew bigger, even more dripping with unrestrained love. She pressed their lips together again, tasting hot salt. “Fuck, I-…I just really, _really_ love you.”

Crowley could feel a relieved smile curl into their kiss.

“I love you too.”

“I totally ruined the mood with this sappy stuff, didn’t I?”

“Absolutely not,” Azira assured her, stroking one auburn strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear and then kissing her this time, “you couldn’t possibly ever ruin anything, my _love_.”

A wave of fizzy, lovestruck lightheadedness washed over Crowley as the pet name reached her ears. The tears and physical pain of overwhelming love were forgotten immediately, and she deepened the kiss.

“Your _love_,” she repeated the term of endearment, growing in courage and assurance. Her hands clasped Azira’s waist, massaging up and down with a new, incited spirit. 

“Yes,” Azira sighed contented, letting her own fingers run over Crowley’s pointy shoulders, timidly pushing the slim straps of her top aside, “my love, my darling.”

Cheekily, Crowley tugged at Azira’s bottom lip with her own before leaving wet, circular traces on her neck, kissing her skin like a blank white wall that just waited to be painted in a variety of colours.

“You call him that too?” she demanded to know, a little tease in her playful control.

Heavy breathing vibrated in Azira’s chest as a soft tingling sensation rolled over her body, starting out from to spot on her collar bone Crowley was sucking so alluringly. She let her fingers run through Crowley’s hair, unsure what to do with them other than just letting them idly hanging on her side.

“No,” she said, her voice in an excited shiver as Crowley really seemed to like that answer and sent a hand downwards to draw her blouse out of her skirt. Cold fingers explored what was underneath, brushing over Azira’s soft tummy and her ribs, and rested on the hard wire of her bra in the middle of her chest. “I’ve never called him that. Just you, only you, my love.”

“Oh, angel…!”

Again, their lips met in a hectic jolt, but this time no one was interested in any restraint. Shallow, fast huffs filled the Bentley’s interior alongside with cosy warmth radiating from their bodies trembling with joy and pleasure. Every short pause for breath made them yearn for more, made them crash and melt into one another again like drowning people fighting for air. They felt like one hot unit, like one racing heart.

At first, Azira was so captured in their kissing, she almost didn’t notice Crowley’s hand continuing to move underneath her shirt. The redhead above her gently cupped her left breast, giving the white lace a sensual, unmistakable squeeze.

Azira faintly moaned into the kiss; less for the touch itself but for the surprise, for imagining what was yet to come. And it, Crowley’s hands gliding under her brassiere and carefully shoving it upwards, sending pleasant shivers dancing and jumping unadulterated up and down her spine, came sooner than Azira could have ever dreamed for.

She had no control over how she held her breath, no, she felt like she had lost all power over her own body at once. Crowley’s wanton gasp that escaped her as her fingertips brushed over Azira’s nipple made Azira subconsciously press her legs together, making Crowley shift above her.

“Angel, are you okay?”

Oh, she was more than just okay.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Oh, no, no, don’t you dare,” Azira purred, stealing yet another kiss from Crowley.

The fact that Crowley showed concern, to go so far as to care about her and ask what _she_ wanted, created a warmth so intimate and safe no kiss, no touch could ever charm out of Azira.

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice and continued to caress Azira’s bosom, gently running over the red carvings underneath her breast the bra had left behind. Azira closed her eyes, her chin rising higher every time Crowley increased the intensity of her touch.

Obviously, they shared the same biological construction, and nonetheless, Crowley was enthralled by how different Azira felt, mesmerised by her shape, her elusive, all-embracing softness. The sensation of it wouldn’t be enough on its own; Crowley wanted, _needed_ to see, needed to soak up all of this pure, authentic beauty with her own hungry eyes.

She pulled her shaking hands out of Azira’s blouse to tend to its painfully laborious buttons, giving one intemperate kiss with every opened button. Once she reached the last one, she slipped it off Azira and went for the bra’s clasp in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

Crowley was staring at Azira’s topless body.

Some years ago, they had gone on a school excursion to a museum for ancient Greek and Roman art together. There had been all sorts of tone paintings, busts and fragments, depictions of divine beings and valiant heroes. But one statue had particularly piqued Crowley’s interest:

It had been a woman’s body. A curvy body.

Well-rounded thighs, plump stomach rolls artfully carved in smooth white marble. 

No shame in it.

Only perpetual, natural beauty.

Beauty only the goddess Aphrodite could hold.

Back then Crowley had looked at her best friend beside her who had been reciting one of Sappho’s poems with a reverent glow in her eyes. Thinking about how Azira was her Aphrodite, _’Aphrodite that had overcome her with longing for a girl’_.

Gazing at her right now, though, made Crowley realize she had been wrong.

Azira didn’t look like Aphrodite.

_She was even more beautiful._

Crowley placed numerous cheeky kisses on Azira’s tummy, making her giggle and squeal in enjoyment that soon ebbed into a hesitant moan as Crowley nipped at her sensitive skin, let her incisor teeth brush her navel and the spot underneath, as her sharp nose poked against the rubber band of Azira’s loose plaid skirt.

“’s too much clothing, angel,” Crowley hummed with a purr of dark amusement while shoving her impudent fingers underneath the band and letting it faintly snap back onto Azira’s lower abdomen.

“You are a fine one to talk,” Azira answered, pointing to the fact Crowley was still fully clothed. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she reached out for the seam of Crowley’s black top.

Crowley would submit to being stripped off her top, but as daring fingers started running over her prominent collar bones, flowing to her balconette bra in a delicate pace, she captured them in her own, kissing them in playful admonition.

“No, no, my darling angel. You’re always giving and giving, but today, I just want you to _take_.”

Dumbfounded, Azira observed Crowley giving her a crooked, toothy smile before shuffling the skirt off her quivering legs.

“Let me spoil you for once,” Crowley’s breath tickled on her right upper leg.

Azira closed her eyes. Quiet whimpering blended into the night’s song of nocturnal courting and rustling leaves as eager lips bedewed the sensitive skin of her thighs with humid love.

“But you always do,” she lamented, glowing heat rushing into her cheeks with every brush of Crowley’s dainty lips that was drawing closer to the growing, luscious throbbing between her pudgy thighs.

And as Crowley placed one deep, inhaling kiss amidst the soaked fabric of her last piece of clothing, Azira couldn’t bother anymore with showing one bit of complaint or restraint.

Intoxicated by the sensation of it, the taste and smell, Crowley let her sharp tongue flick against the wetness behind the interfering underwear, making Azira cry out in unbearable anticipation that controlled her muscles. She unwittingly moved her hips towards Crowley’s touch, almost begging her to take off this last obstacle. Crowley wouldn’t hesitate to give in to her angel’s wish.

The panties were gone fast, and Crowley licked her lips at the enticing sight. Azira bashfully hiding her red face between her hands, spreading her legs wide for Crowley regardless absolutely wasn’t a helping matter. The redhead felt her own thighs covering in thin slickness.

First, only her hot breath ghosted over Azira’s mons Venus before Crowley couldn’t wait any longer herself and closed her lips around the swollen outer labia, drawing choked moans out of Azira. Despite the heat, the few first droplets of sweat appearing on her forehead, Azira’s skin was coated in goosebumps and her hair was standing on end.

“Oh…!” she made, her eyes suddenly opening wide as Crowley’s lips moved in sultry circles, orbiting her clit in splishy kisses, “Oh!”

Crowley smugly hummed into her work. She kept on teasing, only hinting at touching her clitoris directly by quickly darting out her tongue.

The tantalised, whining mess underneath Crowley reacted in spreading her legs even further, handing herself to Crowley on a silver platter. Crowley generously rewarded her with a broad, long-drawn-out lick over Azira’s most tender spot.

Azira’s head jerked upwards at the never before experienced flashes, sparkles in every fibre of her being; of course, she knew of the sensitivity of certain body parts and even so, Crowley’s mouth on her evoked the most exhilaratingly new feelings possible in her.

Those wouldn’t stop as Crowley repeated that same movement a few times: Slow, flat strokes of self-indulgence that shifted into quicker, deft circles again.

The smacking of frivolous kisses, Crowley’s mouthful huffs and Azira’s own heavy breath, they all were sounds heavenly and still utterly hellish at once; Azira didn’t dare to question as to why the forbidden fruit always had to be the sweetest.

However, the question did flame up blazingly fast to be extinguished again by the tsunami waves of tingling and prickling unleashed by Crowley’s fingers grazing her glistening lips and entrance before slipping into it, gingerly moving in Azira’s inexperienced hole just to curl up, rubbing against her walls in a come-hither motion.

Azira moaned in shaky treble. Responsive tears collected themselves in the corners of her eyes, and she coyly hid them with one arm resting over her scorching face, looking for Crowley’s hand with the other. She found it as her hips found the right, consistent rhythm to softly rock against Crowley’s licks, and she intertwined their fingers, encountering a pervasive longing to feel Crowley close in every way possible.

It all added together, summing into a wealth of excessive, desirous impressions that did not only take away Azira’s ability to form coherent sentences in her own mind but her perception of time and space:

Crowley kept deliciously stroking her g-spot, skilfully composing careful pampering together with definite precision into the lustful symphonies that were Azira’s sighs. All of it while letting her tongue run over her throbbing vulva, cupping the enlarged clitoris with her lips to create a gentle suction and lick for as long as her remaining breath allowed her to, burying her mouth and nose deep between Azira’s legs.

Wanton amber fastened itself on Azira’s eyes, locking them in a relentless, lascivious hold as Crowley’s touches chased Azira uphill, just to keep her on edge and let her fall down mercilessly in between Crowley’s quick gasps for breath.

“Crowley!” she cried out, not willing to take any more of this; her pelvis was urgently pushing, rocking, rubbing against Crowley, accompanied by a little tremble in her tired, overstrained knees and her sweet little butt. Crowley smirked and squeezed Azira’s hand in her own, brushing over the empty space on her pinky where a ring used to sit innocently.

Time to make good on the promised spoiling then.

Keeping the steady pace of her fingers fucking her, Crowley took one deep breath before dipping down again and sucking on Azira’s clit, relishing, letting her tongue dance the blonde into a Sapphic, belladonic haze.

Azira couldn’t tell anymore where her own body began and where Crowley’s mouth stopped for window-fogging heat between them made them melt into one another; if there ever was any doubt, anxiety about this inside Azira to begin with, it evaporated in their sizzling fusion and looked so, so infinitesimal compared to the growing, exploding stars before her eyes.

The last deliberate choice she made was to clasp their hands together one last time and she fully dissolved into a whining, panting bundle of pleasure and satisfaction.

She was in Heaven.

Though it must be stated that every place became Heaven when Crowley was near.

Only when coming down from her first shared orgasm and bathing in its glorious afterglow, Azira noticed how she had subconsciously pressed her legs together while climaxing, trapping Crowley muffled between them. She released her immediately from her grip.

Naturally, Crowley wouldn’t blow her chance of gasping in an overly dramatic and exaggerated way.

“Fuck, I thought this was the end.”

“Crowley…” Azira complained, but she couldn’t swallow the goofy grin that was spreading over her face.

“No, really, I was seeing a light, tunnel, all that stuff.”

Azira rolled her eyes and shook her head, watching Crowley slowly kiss her way upwards again until she captured Azira’s lips.

“And as I laid there, drowning and choking with my face deep between your legs-“ Azira couldn’t contain another deep, annoyed sigh – “- I just thought to myself: ‘Wow, what a way to go.’”

“I’m sorry, I was just-…”

“Oh no, wow? _Such a heavenly way to die, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine._”

Azira mused with narrowed eyes. “Ah, the Smiths, right?”

The picture of Crowley snickering a throaty giggle and planting a pleased smile on Azira’s nose, all while her cheeks still glinted with her wetness, conjured warm fizzy bubbles de novo inside Azira’s stomach. 

“What an attentive, little student you are!” Crowley praised her jokingly and tended to Azira’s collar bone again, lazily kissing and sucking the soft skin there. 

For the past few years, Crowley’s been striving to make Azira catch up on the last century of music that she, oddly enough, seemed to has missed somehow; she’s been making mixtapes, burning CDs, basically throwing USB-sticks at her ever since, and it had become some kind of insider between them for Crowley to occasionally check up on Azira’s progress. 

That itself would have been enough to make them wallow in reminiscence and smile affectionately at one another, but the implication of them being _okay_, so okay as to make jokes in familiar bliss after overstepping this big line in their relationship, made Crowley’s heart race in the most excited, pleasant way. 

Maybe even a little too fast, too delusionary. 

Azira awkwardly moved underneath her as the suction of Crowley’s lips on her skin intensified. 

“Crowley, love…don't, it’ll leave a mark.” 

“That’s the point,” she mumbled, nestling her face in the crook of Azira’s neck and breathed unevenly against her work, “I want everyone to see that you’re mine and I’m yours. Fuck, Azira, I love you so much, I want to shout it from the rooftops.” 

Snuggled against her, Crowley didn’t see the slowly evolving horror in Azira’s eyes. 

She was so drunk with love, with overflowing endorphins and tangible joy, she utterly ignored all signs, blinking alarmingly in front of her eyes like illuminated panels. The mood shifted in mere seconds.

“I’m…listen, _dear_.” 

_Dear_ made her sober up, though. 

_Dear_ wasn’t _love_, and it was palpable in Azira’s stutter. 

Crowley slowly sat up. 

“You couldn’t…possibly imagine how happy I am to hear that you care so much about me-…I truly am!” Azira began, and so did the whispers in the back of Crowley’s head. “But…this doesn’t really change anything we discussed earlier. I still have to sort it all out. Gabriel, my dad, everything-”

“But I’m going to help you with that!” Crowley interrupted her, frantically taking her hand and pressing it as if scared Azira would run away otherwise. “I meant everything I said earlier! We can just run off! Hell, we don’t even have to run off, we’ll step up against your father and this dick! I’m by your side, we can do that! You don’t need them; _we_ just need each other!”

She started rambling, and the prior cheerful pace of her heart quickened into a fight for the last rest of composure. Desperately chasing the delirium of blithe young love that was mockingly slipping through her fingers. 

“I _love_ you, angel! I’ll do everything for you! I’ll do every job, no matter how stupid, so you can live all your dreams, but please, please, please, don’t let yourself get treated like a fucking doormat, I’m begging you-“ 

“Are you even listening to me?” Azira exhaled distraught over the chaotically constructing misunderstanding looming over them. “I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you! It just doesn’t magically solve all problems, obviously!”

“_Obviously_, it won’t if you don’t try! Are you ashamed of me?” 

“No!” she cried out, although she experienced many other shades of embarrassment that made her clasp onto her now wrinkled clothes and put them on again. “But this isn’t easy for me! I can’t simply walk up to my terminally ill, homophobic father and just-“

“Of course, you can!” 

Azira’s eyes glazed over. Her heart felt like a cold stone thrown into the sea. 

“Maybe this was a mistake. We shouldn’t have-…”

“So you’re regretting this now? Really? Because I’m telling you that you deserve to be treated with respect?”

“God, no! All of this is just too much right now! It wasn’t a rational thing to do!”

“Aha! So, it’s rational to fake a relationship with a horny narcissist, but love me is irrational! I get it now!” Crowley spat, throwing her hands in the air. 

“You’re totally missing the point!”

“Enlighten me, then.” 

“Sarcasm, now, really? I’m-…Perhaps it’s less about rationality but morals! This,” Azira said and pointed between them, “is still _cheating_. I’m cheating on Gabriel, and it’s wrong, no matter how bad Gabriel might treat me.”

“How _bad_ he _might_ treat you? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Azira felt like she was talking to a concrete wall. 

“Why can’t you understand that this was a stupid, impulsive decision?!”

Maybe, Azira felt like talking to a wall. Crowley, however, felt like talking to a mirror that reflected every single fear she ever sensed. 

She was paralysed. Unresponsive to Azira’s hand who tried to stroke her own in vain. 

“We overcomplicated everything,” Azira whispered, heavy regret throbbing in her shaky voice. “We went too fast.”

Azira could have shot her and it wouldn’t have hurt as those four words did. 

“Too fast?” Crowley dug her nails painfully deep into her palms. “Too fast?! We have been best friends for 6 years!” 

Silence fell in the car. 

It wouldn’t inside of Crowley’s head, it just wouldn’t. 

A while ago, Azira had been mesmerised by Crowley’s fiery glow in the dark. Now, she looked burned out, matte. 

It broke her heart. 

“Precisely,” she breathed softly, reaching for the door handle. “And that’s what I’m scared about ruining.” 

Crowley huffed scornfully. 

“So you’re leaving now?”

“Antonia, this conversation isn’t going anywhere…” 

“Alright then, leave.” 

Azira closed her eyes and bit on her quivering lip. 

Crowley was hurt, and Azira knew, she knew those words were the product of miscommunication, of badly processed emotions and nonetheless, it would be so, so painful to listen to one more word of hers. 

Her insides cramped in dry, excruciating jolts, yet incomparable to the heavy force pressing her heart down in a ruthless grip. 

This felt like a break-up. 

“I don’t care. It’s your choice, it’s all up to you.” 

“Crowley, please, let’s calm down…” 

Crowley inhaled for one last sentence and she regretted it, _hated_ herself for it, the second it left her lips. 

“Don’t bother to send me a wedding invitation.” 

Azira left after that. 

Her sobs were muffled through the car door between them as they reached Crowley’s ears. 

A bicycle disappeared into the night. 

Crowley watched it go as its rear reflectors blurred into red, wet circles. 

She fumbled with a golden ring in her pocket to distract herself from the voices. 

For nothing. 

Maybe, they had been right after all.


	3. take my hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, will you believe me when I tell you I finally managed to fINISH THIS AHHHH  
I feel sorry to infinity and beyond but I literally had the worst writing block I've ever experienced. Well, here it is ♥ I'm not 100% satisfied with the outcome but I'd love to hear what you think. Thank you for all your support!  
Warning! There's a brief panic attack in the first third of the chapter, stay safe!

A picture hung in front of Azira, and she’s been staring at it for a while now. 

It showed a girl. 

She had flaxen blonde, thinned out hair, continuously maltreated with unnatural heat and chemicals. Stressed hair that was evenly framing an even more stressed face: Insomnia had been rigidly carving deep lines and furrows into her formerly full, cherry cheeks; sucking all vivid colours out of them and leaving prominent bags of dark violet under the girl’s eyes in an unfair, unbalanced exchange.  
Once upon a time in spring, once upon a playful, yet delicate compliment, her eyes had been compared to a rich sea-green, dewy meadow glistening in the young morning sun. But that sun has become searingly hot, the grass was cut and dried out, and her weary eyes with it. 

It showed the _ghost_ of a girl. 

A _horrifying_ picture hung in front of Azira, and she couldn’t stop staring. 

And it wouldn’t stop growing more and more horrifying with the realization that she was looking into a mirror. 

The realization came with cold, white gold that was placed around her neck by two strong, thick-veined hands. 

“Oh,” she made, almost a faint whisper. The necklace and the expensive, artfully knotted pendant on it were as light as a feather on her neck, yet leaden on her heart. “You shouldn’t have, Gabriel.” 

“Shush it.”

“It must have been wickedly pricey.” 

“Only the best for my girl.” 

The right corner of her mouth twitched in an attempt to smile for him. 

“You don’t like it?”, he asked while his hands still rested in her nape, slowly running over the skin with his thumbs in circles. The tender touch felt like a prelude to an impending strangling. 

She gulped.

“No! It’s beautiful! Thank you so much, _darling_!”

It really was.  
The smooth lover’s knot on her collar bone and its luxurious silvery sheen elicited by the bright lamp in Azira’s room looked like Gabriel invested a lot of time, thought and _money_ choosing it for her. 

Which wouldn’t make it any easier to return it to him once she would end this for good. 

Over time, over those two years of their relationship, Gabriel had been bombarding her with presents, a little something here and there; a reminder of his thoughtfulness and unconditional _love_ for her in case someone forgot.  
It’s not the loss of this showering, of pretty, shiny objects that scared her. What really scared her was the thought of packing it all together and pressing it into his hands. The thought of deleting all pictures, all traces of this relationship’s existence. The explaining she would have to do, the faces she would be looking into while confessing to her failure, the questions she would have to answer as to how their publicly adored and cherished liaison could have ever broken off- 

As much as Gabriel’s presence in her life had been taking away her breath in the most unbearable way, so would the anxiety-inducing image of destroying this steadily built up _dependence_ choke every last bit of courage out of her. 

She felt terribly pathetic. 

“I decided you’d deserve something nice after our finals”, he then explained, his dark eyes flickered amusedly in the mirror. “And especially after you’ve _lost_ your ring, which, again, is a shame, but, well, I want you to wear something that makes you stand out as mine.” 

As if on cue, Azira was looking to her hand and the white space her chastity ring had been before. 

“I’m so sorry-” 

“It’s still so hard to understand how someone can be _stupid_ enough to lose their ring at the gym, but-“, he sighed and took her hand, stroking her ring finger, “in the end it doesn’t really matter.” 

The squeeze on her finger tightened slightly, still affectionate. 

He smiled mysteriously and didn’t continue his train of thought out loud although both knew what it was about. 

“Anyway, there’s something else I need to talk with you about, sunshine.” 

The necklace constricted around her neck, cutting deeply into her skin although Gabriel didn’t touch it. 

“I’ve noticed how you distanced yourself from that…_friend_ of yours.” 

Her chest tightened and put on a confusing chokehold on her heart; she couldn’t tell if it was racing too fast or on the verge of stopping to beat at all. 

“Good. That’s good and healthy for you. I don’t even know what appeal she had to you. Only yesterday, I saw her getting drunk at that one car park near our school in the light of day. She had that freaky witch girl with her, you know, that other weird acquaintance of yours-“

“Anathema”, she whispered.

“Right, Anathema. This whole occult, satanic witch thing she has going on, man, it just makes me wanna throw up. If you ask me, that’s such a childish, defiant way of rebelling against authorities. And still, that’s a lot more pleasant than anything that had ever come from Antonia.” 

Behind her, Gabriel grew bigger and bigger in the mirror. 

“What good prospect does that friendship have for us anyway? She’s so different from us, she’s got no plans, no real place in life – and especially not in ours. She’s like a poisonous rash. Alone for influencing you to all that reckless behaviour, which, we both know, has happened a lot over the past years! Imagine us being married and having children, a family, we couldn’t have _that_ around!”

Oh, for how much she hoped for her heart to stop. 

She bit her lip. It made Gabriel sigh deeply and turn her around, so she would directly face him. 

“I understand that she has been your friend and that it may hurt to let go first. But don’t look at it that way. Take it as some sort of cleansing, detox if you will. You can now concentrate on what’s important. You’ll make new friends. Better friends. My sisters, for example, they’d love to spend more time with you!” 

Downstairs, the doorbell rang, singing what felt like Azira’s personal little requiem. 

“Speak of the…well, not devil”, Gabriel chuckled and tapped the tip of Azira’s nose. “I asked Mika to help you get ready. Today’s an important day and we want everything to work out perfectly, hm?”

Azira briefly glanced over to the pretty, neatly ironed prom dress on her bed. 

“Yes…”

“You know perfectly well that I don’t like it when you’re mumbling.”

“I’m sorry. Yes, of course, dear, jolly good…everything.” 

“Alright”, he sighed pleased and brushed her forehead with his lips as a reward, “I’ll quickly take her upstairs and then I’ll leave you ladies to it. I can’t wait to pick you up, sunshine.” 

She forced another smile but it rather looked like someone just stepped on her foot. 

“Can’t wait to be picked up, then.” 

The corners of her mouth quickly dropped as he turned around and walked out of the door. 

She couldn’t help it but ask herself whether Mika was just here to help her with hair and make-up and have a Mamma Mia!-esque dance-off to ‘dancing queen’ with her or to actually keep an eye on Azira. 

It wasn’t like _some friend of hers_ was going to come for her and miraculously take her away to run off to the stars, anyway. 

Mika’s greeting had been cold and reserved as always. A brief shaking of hands and a slight nod of the head, as if she was rather approving the presence of another business partner than that of her, presumably, sister-in-law to be.  
This wasn’t based on any act of discourtesy and rather Mika’s very nature. 

Azira knew it was wrong to judge and make assumptions about other people but she sometimes found herself wondering if Gabriel’s older sister actually was capable of feeling any emotion other than scathing disappointment and…well. Much more was yet to unlock. 

Mika rose one perfectly plucked eyebrow at the sight of Azira’s playful curls trying to jump into freedom once again, letting her hand run through the blonde hair. Her own wedding ring got slightly caught up in it. 

“We’ll have to do something about that.”

_It’s a pity. Curls suit you._

“I am awfully sorry, I haven’t had the time to get ready just yet. Gabriel surprised me with his sudden visit”, Azira apologized and lowered her head. 

_Almost make you look even more angelic. If that’s even possible._

The outer corners of her eyes started to burn, a sweet bite in her vision. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a quick shower. Please, make yourself feel comfortable. Would you fancy a cup of tea?”, she offered to Mika who frowned upon the stacks of books and piles of notes beside Azira’s bed before sitting down. Disdainfully wrinkling her nose while doing so. 

“No, thank you. I’ll be waiting.” 

One second of Mika’s frigid side glance almost made Azira forget that this was an arid day in July, record-breaking in temperature.  
She nodded and went to the adjacent bathroom, desperately trying not to run, _not to cry_. 

And as soon as she closed the door and elicited a small click by locking it up, she slid to her knees and leaned her forehead wrinkled in pain against the cold wood. Breathing like a bunny in fear of dying, she felt like choking on air that was thinning out more and more with every rapid gasp for breath. Her heart was racing, resonating in her stomach and on her tongue, leaving the nauseating taste of warm iron there to make her gag.  
The whole world came crashing down on her in flames and fumes, making her sweat and wheeze and cry and press her eyes closed and-  
and then she caught a glimpse of herself in the illuminated mirror above the sink again. 

She hadn’t been sleeping, _dreaming_ well for the past few weeks. Resulting, pervasive tiredness made her run on the little energy she had left, leaving her to feel like she’s been cut off from all her exhilarating senses:  
Music sounded dull and colours seemed pale as if she’s been put into a coffin out of frosted glass. She didn’t find any motivation to flip more than three pages in a book before putting it away. Food tasted like nothing and worse; crepes were dry as carton and sushi held the bitter savour of bad choices.

Apparently, she was fitting perfectly into her dress now. Her figure looked the most healthy it ever has, she’s been told. 

Shivering, she found her breath again, together with enough untrustworthy strength to lift herself up and to start disrobing. 

_Fuck, I-…I just…_

The memory of slender, dainty fingers brushing over her skin made her nudge her chin against her own shoulder, hoping to crawl into a weeping ball and stay in this bathroom for the whole evening.

_…I just really, _really _love you._

They hadn’t talked or texted since then.  
There had been brief stares on the hallway until Gabriel would tug her along or someone would call for Crowley to turn around. Awkward silence as Antonia had switched seats in the chemistry lab. No shared joy over their completed finals or their results.  
There had been three dots mockingly blinking in her phone screen when Azira would check up on their chat alone in bed at night, tipping her heart and soul out just to delete it all into nothingness with the sudden change of Crowley’s online status. 

Azira took a shower. 

“Now, hold still, will you?”

Azira’s eyelids shivered in horror of the approaching lash curler but Mika was having none of that. For the last half an hour she’s been working on her face and she hasn’t been layering tons of make-up on her skin to get rid of all those unwanted imperfections and traces of sleepless nights just for her to flinch away like a sulky toddler. 

The discomfort of cold iron pressing together so close to her eyes made Azira whimper faintly which earned her another reprimanding glare. 

“You want to look pretty, don’t you? So, shush it. This is just something we have to endure as women, well, we are the stronger sex after all.”

Azira didn’t reply anything, just pondering about Mika’s questionable understanding of womanhood or that the world would still keep spinning without this instrument of torture. 

“This is the beginning of an important part of your life. Looking back at pictures, you’ll be happy to see your younger self all dolled up, trust me,” Mika mumbled, shoving one rebellious bobby pin back into Azira’s explosion-proof chignon hairdo. “I know, growing up and becoming an adult might seem scary and overwhelming but in the end, it’ll be fine.” 

By no means did Azira expect Mika to give her a pep talk and it almost would have warmed up her heart if the latter just wouldn’t have kept going. 

“I’ve married young, and to many people that’s insane. But it’s important to have steady constants in your life, and I promise you, there certainly isn’t anything more consistent and fulfilling as being loved and honoured, no matter how old you are. You shouldn’t care about what the other’s might think.”

Everybody acted as if they were already married, and it almost made Azira smudge Mika’s work with up-boiling tears burning in her eyes. The only last thing that prevented her from going fully insane was her assumption that Gabriel wouldn’t actually propose tonight: 

Since he had been planning on visiting his family’s holiday cottage by the seaside with her next week, putting a profuse emphasis on how _romantic_ that was going to be, she figured he would be postponing the engagement until then. Sparing her from the mortifying ordeal of rejecting him in public. He couldn’t possibly lead her into such a situation as to propose in front of hundreds of people. Not even Gabriel would be capable of something so dastardly, so humiliating for both of them. 

She just had to survive this one evening, break up with him the next day and seize control of her life. 

Oh, if that’s all. 

“Anyway, let’s put on your dress, right?”, Mika ripped her out of her thoughts and walked to the bed to bring the piece of clothing over to Azira. 

The garment in question was a plain grey, long-sleeved mermaid dress accentuated by a white-golden belt around the waist and otherwise rather dull. What was modestly covered by the thick fabric, was in exchange showing off way too much for Azira’s liking: Sitting skin-tight on her figure, it embraced her curves in a presumably conventionally aesthetic way but definitely not how Azira would have chosen her dress to look on her. 

It did match Gabriel’s suit, though, she noticed quickly when he eventually came back to pick her up. Hand in hand, he led her downstairs; a painted lamb to the slaughter. 

Once presented, her father was cooing over them, how perfectly they looked together, how proud her mother would have been.

Pictures for the family album were made, cramping smiles were put on, and after her father and Gabriel’s bantering about gentlemanly duties, they were finally sitting in Gabriel’s car. 

The weight of everything yet to come, of stiltedly conversing in public, playing Gabriel’s meek and mild sunshine was trampling her down as he started the engine. 

The possibility of seeing _her_. 

Maybe even with a date of her own. 

Azira couldn’t be so naïve to think Crowley would never move on from this. She was a stunning woman strong enough to always rise like a phoenix from the ashes, simply brush this off her feathers, certainly. 

Unlike Azira. 

Did she really irreparably ruin their friendship? Everything they had for 6 years, destroyed in one evening?

Her heart was sitting stiff and cold in her chest. 

If so, nothing really felt like it mattered anymore. 

She felt stupid, she felt _childish_, but knowing she had broken the one good thing in her life with the snap of her finger in one night of reckless indulgence left a wound that felt like it’d never heal. Nothing mattered if she couldn’t share it with her. 

When Gabriel touched her knee, she didn’t even flinch this time. 

Over-punctual, the two of them arrived at the school’s gymnasium.  
Its opened gates were decorated with an arch of matte gold and silver balloons, wiggling in the refreshing summer wind just like the mountains of tulle spruced up girls dragged with them. Along with it, a red carpet had been rolled out, leading into the bright hall illuminated by a multitude of gaudy disco lights. The latest, cheesy pop ballade boomed from the inside. 

As they got out of the car and set foot on the ground, they were immediately surrounded by a swarm of giddy girls and their no less giddy boyfriends, all coming from Gabriel’s wide circle of friends and acquaintances.  
Azira got bombarded with compliments for her dress, her success in weight loss.  
The school’s very own _wallflower_, as they called her, finally had come into full bloom.  
About time. 

They envied her for living their dream, for Gabriel’s arm protectively reaching around her waist, for the _relationship goals_ they both apparently embodied. 

Azira smiled.  
Excusing herself from the conversation, she walked inside to _”wet my whistle, oh dear me, such a dry throat I got today, pardon!”_

She hasn’t even noticed how she had held her breath until she reached the little buffet and panted heavily, leaning against the desk as her face reflected in the reddish bowl of punch. 

“One evening, just one evening”, her reflection mouthed, pitying her like a sympathetic stranger through the calm surface of sugary water and artificial strawberry. “You can do this, just one evening-“

Frantically, she took one of the disposable carton cups and filled it with punch, just to down it in a few big gulps and refill it. 

One evening.  
_Given that you won’t fail to speak up._

The excessive amount of sugar stuck to her throat, joining forces with the growing lump. Her chest cramped under the tight feeling spreading all over her torso.  
The commotion of pouring the punch into her cup drew circles in the bowl, contorting her face until it slowly soothed again. 

Revealing another face suddenly next to hers.

There was a flash of steel, and a flask was pulled out of an inside pocket. 

“It wouldn’t be the American prom fantasy if no one would spike the punch, now would it?”

_No._

Azira trembled, silently. Unable to look at Crowley. 

“Don’t you…” Crowley’s faux confidence crumbled within seconds. “…don't you wanna stop me? There could be – I dunno – people on medication or, err, drivers.” She didn’t look at her, but Azira knew Crowley was gnawing on her bottom lip. With the fall of Crowley’s courage, her voice followed. “Don’t you wanna, _hell_, thwart my ‘evil deeds’?” 

Cautiously, a hand approached Azira, letting its knuckles gingerly stroke her upper arm and leaving a trace of untrustworthy warmth that just fuelled her heart to race even more erratic. 

Crowley’s lips snapped open multiple times, unsure of what to say. Of course, Azira wouldn’t simply jump on the bandwagon and giggle about their usual stupid shenanigans, carefree as if the sky was blue and world peace upon everyone.  
Words were stuck, lost in the shrilling chaos inside her head and the incapability of talking intelligibly. “I’m-…”

“-Antonia, please…”, Azira sighed, turning away from the touch and rubbing her own palms over her arms in a fruitless attempt of getting rid of the lingering sensation of Crowley’s fingers. 

They fell quiet. 

And even though every fibre of Azira’s soul, remaining composure and dignity was begging her to just leave, curiosity won the battle over her bewildered heart and so, her eyes sheepishly fluttered into Crowley’s direction. 

Crowley wore a silky, pitch-black pantsuit, that playfully highlighted the pointy edges of her shoulders in a modern, alluringly androgynous way. The deep V-neck ended just below her sternum, cheekily hinting at the delicate shape of her chest; freckled marble in the heart of spotless black.  
Azira suppressed a sigh.  
The most remarkable thing about Crowley’s appearance was her hair. 

“That’s…new,” Azira muttered, half talking into her cup, half directed to Crowley, “…your hair.”

“Oh-…I…yeah,” Crowley picked up the conversation, taken by surprise but visibly relieved with Azira’s participation. Nervously, she let her fingers run through the short, red strands of her former long curls, now fiercely styled upwards like little flames flickering on her head. “Why go to therapy when you can get a new haircut?”, she snorted, a little desperate. 

Azira pouted, feeling one icy layer of restraint melt from her soul. “You know that I really don’t like it when you make jokes like that. I never know when to take you seriously.” 

“Well, it _is_ less expensive, for one thing.” 

For that, Crowley earned a theatrical roll of Azira’s eyes and, most importantly, the faintest sweet little twitch of the corner’s of her mouth. Encouraged by it, Crowley made one subtle step towards her while her eyes went up and down her body, unsure whether to like what they were seeing or not.  
Flask still in hand, she wanted to put it away, as Azira raised her half-full cup out of the blue and held it to her, pleadingly.  
When was she ever to deny something to her angel?

Inconspicuously and out of sight of any adult supervision, she poured cheap vodka into Azira’s cup and watched her hum thankfully before taking worryingly big swigs out of it.  
Sliding down the spiral of anxiety and concern, Crowley’s tongue slipped before her mind could approve of any words. 

“You look terrible.” 

Azira looked up from her terribly balanced drink, directing those two jade stones, shimmering in somewhat amused confusion, straight at Crowley for the first time today. 

Startled, Crowley choked on air. “I mean, you make quite the pretty dress-up doll. But you look-…” She sighed, and her tense facial expression softened. “Are you okay? I mean…It’s a stupid question, obviously.” 

Wet spots appeared on the paper cup underneath Azira’s slightly shivering fingers. She cast a glance over her shoulder into the hall, slowly but surely filling itself with ball attendees, though, she didn’t catch sight of Gabriel. 

“I’m fine.” Mumbling in a strained tone, she watched her beverage swirl in her cup. “I’m…sorry for everything that happened.”

“Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Crowley interrupted her, hissing with restlessness. “It’s me who ought to be sorry. For that night, for the last few weeks. I should have swallowed my stupid pride and called you. _Fuck_, I should have stepped to your doorstep and do something…!”

“It always takes two.” 

They went silent again, although Azira’s pulse was pounding so deafening loud in her ears, she was sure Crowley must hear it, too. 

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice was hoarse and raspy with overflowing emotions and yet, so painfully affectionate it almost crushed Azira’s heart. “I’ve been thinking. And…it’s probably the worst moment to talk about this but I’m scared you’ll completely disappear once prom’s over. I just need to get this out. You don’t even have to properly listen or say anything if I totally fucked up for good, but-“

“Crowley…”

“You said you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” 

Both their hearts skipped a beat. 

“Yes.”

“But maybe that’s exactly what we should be doing.” 

Azira’s eyes widened stunned as Crowley gently took her hand, put her long-lost, golden chastity ring in her palm and closed it with her own cold fingers. 

“We should be dating instead. At a pace…slow enough for you to be comfortable. We don’t even have to, as long as we’re in each other’s life. Fixing what we had in a new, healthy way. I pressured you into a hopeless situation with all my demands because I was so egoistic and I only cared about my own needs. The thing is, and it’s probably extremely cheesy, but I couldn’t care less about being corny right now: You are my most important need.”

Her grasp on Azira’s hand got firmer, more tender, letting the metal between them press its trace into their skin. 

“I’ve done inexcusable things in the past and I don’t want you to just simply look past them, we both can’t. But if we could just give this another chance, a chance to take care for each other, to stand by your side, then- I just…feel like you’re falling into that dark pit I’ve been in before, and I would never forgive myself if I hadn’t caught you beforehand. I need you. And I want to be there for you, forever and a day.” 

Azira hadn’t known that it was possible to love a person so much until she found herself whimper in bitter-sweet pain, clinging to Crowley’s hands as the first tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to nod vigorously, press her face into her shoulder, never let go anymore as she whispered endless nothings drenched in endearment, and she probably would have done all of those things – if it wasn’t for the long shadow of a man approaching them. 

Abruptly, she pulled her hand away and wiped her tears away, still secretly clutching at the ring in her hand. 

“Antonia. In a suit. What a surprise.” 

“I didn’t know you were giving fashion reviews now, _Gabe_.” 

Crowley’s eyes quickly scanned the couple, glistening scornfully with their discovery. 

“Matching outfits, huh?” Smirking, she thought about the joke she had made at the gazebo. Sarcasm was dripping out of her entire being. “Well, isn’t that just lovely.” 

Azira didn’t laugh, just blankly staring at Crowley. 

“I think it’d be for the best if you’d leave my girlfriend alone,” Gabriel interrupted their intense eye-contact with a sneer and tugged at Azira’s hip to pull her closer. 

“Your _girlfriend_ can speak for her own,” Crowley spat and turned away from him, absolutely not interested in wasting one further breathe of air for Gabriel or his pathetic threats. “Anyway, angel, if you need a ride home, you know where to find me.” 

“She won’t be needing one, she’s here with me.”

Again, Crowley ignored him.

“I’ll be waiting for a while after the ceremony. I won’t be mad if you won’t come, I promise, but…I’d love to see you and talk about everything.”  
The concluding, sincere smile adorning Crowley’s lips set fire to Azira’s heart. 

And with that, Crowley nonchalantly shoved her hands into the back pockets of her pants and sauntered off. 

Both Azira and Gabriel just watched her leave. However, their reactions couldn’t be more different. 

“Who does she even think she is, talking to me like this? If you ask me, it’s a miracle she even managed to graduate. I don’t know how you’ve kept up with such a- such an exasperating person for so long!” 

Her tired eyes averted his glance, languidly concentrating on the already aching feet pressed into her high heels. He wouldn’t stop going on about Crowley, indirect insults pouring out of his mouth and corroding her ears like acid. 

Yeah. 

How has she been keeping up with such an exasperating person for so long?

Gabriel didn’t dance. There was no particular reason for it, some traumatic resentment or trouble keeping up with rhythm. Dancing was just simply something he wouldn’t do, and he wouldn’t even swallow his unreasonable pride for Azira. (Who wasn’t the best dancer either but had her fun doing so. One time, Crowley had taken her to an 80s disco hall and after seeing one of the coolest people she knew shamelessly spasming in public, Azira figured she’d be fine.) 

Once their headmaster had greeted them in a few, empty words about the plights of adulthood and their futures outside of school that felt as dry in Azira’s ears as they probably had on the middle-aged man’s tongue, he declared the dance floor open, and swarms of teenagers rushed in front of the stage on which a local students’ band was preparing for their first song. 

As aforementioned, Gabriel didn’t dance and rather got invested in conversations that somehow managed to surpass the headmaster’s speech in tediousness – apparently Jacob from the student’s council was going to attend business school which had been a hard decision since he had always dreamt of winning the Rubik’s cube world championship. Azira knew she would never take Crowley’s companionship for granted again. 

She really wanted to trust Crowley. If she couldn’t trust her anymore, the whole world could just as well turn upside down. But every time she dreamily lost herself in the idea of just storming out of these doors and driving off with Crowley like a princess that rode into the sunset on her lover’s noble steed, something inside her chest twitched painfully. 

Every time, she was reminded of her venomous remarks and glances that Azira’s conscious had already gladly forgiven her but were lingering like wafting black smoke in the back of her head nonetheless. 

She was reminded of the last few weeks being alone, of her weakness and of the realisation that another argument like this would break her thoroughly. 

It was Gabriel’s hand on her lower back that pulled her back into reality.  
Although it was the same hand blithely sliding onto her bottom that sharpened the pain in her ribcage, that took all air out of her lungs and instead filled her eyes with spilling shame. 

“Not here, Gabriel,” she pressed out clipped, her voice was a shaky staccato he didn’t really acknowledge and just moved his heavy hand upwards again. 

The touch burned. The others’ eyes, undisturbed and yet entertained by what they just witnessed, felt scorching on her body, sending her faster to escape into the bathroom than her exhausted feet would allow her: The clumsy little stumble in front of the door was the last droplet to break the dam, and as soon as she had locked the toilet stall’s door behind her, she was drowning in the merciless flood of her emotions. 

Actually biting down onto her curled index finger, she pressed her eyes closed and tried as much as was humanly possible not to sob out loud; not to make anyone worry, destroy another party goer’s evening with her banal problems. There was a decent, respectable man willing to marry her and tell the whole world about it. There was Crowley, her best friend from childhood, her soulmate and partner in crime and benefaction waiting for her to work on their relationship. 

Azira had more than most people could wish for, but _for Heaven’s sake_, why was she crying as if the world was going to end?

“Are you okay in there?”

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one interested in the solution to this riddle. 

As she recognized Anathema’s voice resounding in the public bathroom, she was scared of drawing blood from her finger. Tensing up, she cleared her throat and whimpered from the force she gulped back her tears with, feeling it press onto her temples and eyes until it distorted her vision. 

“Oh, yes, of course!”, she exclaimed, coughing another time to smooth out her voice and dabbing her moist face with toilet paper. “Allergies are dreadful this year, you know?”

“Allergies? Allergic to Gabriel’s groping I can imagine.” 

Azira almost dropped the golden ring she as yet had refused to put on again. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“…”

“Azira?”

“I’m so sorry, dear. I’ve been…the worst friend possible to all of you. I didn’t reply to your texts or calls and-“

“It’s okay, honey. Please, come out, I feel stupid talking to a door.”

She hesitated. 

“I know you’ve been through a lot, Azira. But there are people who care about you. Newt and I do. Antonia certainly does-“ 

Abruptly, Azira opened the door, blinking against the lights and faking a bland smile. 

“I truly appreciate your kind words, but…don’t. You don’t have to do this. I’m fine, I really am. Actually, I don’t even know where all of this just came from!”, she laughed, rubbing the space under her eyes as if her tears just had been a careless joke. 

To complete her unconvincing act, she quickly hugged Anathema, but just as her arms closed around her friend, the other wouldn’t let go of her anymore. 

Anathema deepened the embrace, brushing her shivering shoulder blades with warm fingers that were pouring sheer compassion into the light touch, and she wouldn’t stop doing so until Azira’s already cracking walls completely broke down to the ground. 

Quietly sobbing into Anathema’s navy blue dress, she let herself be comforted like a weeping child tormented by a nightmare becoming reality. 

“I won’t force you to talk about anything,” Anathema whispered, wiping one renegade curl behind Azira’s ear, “but we’re all worried about you. It was so hard to get through to you. We couldn’t text, and at school, Gabriel wouldn’t let us. And now that I’m actually talking to you, seeing you like this…I’m so sorry for not trying harder. We’re all here for you now.” 

Azira hiccupped, strained from crying, and just whined weakly as a reaction to her. 

“And without taking a decision for you, I just want to tell you for how long Antonia has trained those words for you. Maybe, she seemed all cool and mysterious but she’s a mess and probably anxiously chewing on her steering wheel right now.” 

A breathless giggle arose through Azira’s tears. 

“And she will be for the next 6000 years or so if you won’t come outside.”

“I love her so much, Anathema. I’m just so…scared.” 

“I get that, I really do. I talked to her and I think, she understands now, too.” Anathema sighed. “But I need you to promise something to me.”

Expectantly, Azira looked up. 

“No matter how you choose, whether you’re going home with her tonight or you’re marrying someone completely different in some years: You can’t let yourself be treated like this ever again. I would never expect Antonia to take such advantage of you. We both know she’s absolutely harmless, but still. Don’t let her become what Gabriel is to you now.” 

Thousands of different thoughts were running through her mind; fears were holding hands with growing encouragement. Her anxiety was faintly clinging onto her body like a lazy wave washing over the shore, just to eventually fall asleep. 

She nodded. 

Together, both girls left the bathroom after trying to save what had remained of Azira’s makeup and freeing her from the many pins and clips scratching on her scalp. On wobbly knees, Azira entered the hall with wavy hair framing her tear-stained, puffy face, and she felt like a new woman. 

She would go outside, strong and invincible, and tell Crowley the truth. Tell her how she felt, how hurt she had been, how scared and disappointed. And she’d tell her that all had been forgiven. That she loved her, always did. That she’d move mountains for them to try again, but only and not before she had settled things with Gabriel who didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

Gabriel. She’d tell him, too. She’d break up with him, uncompromisingly, once and for all. Deciding on her own who’d fit into the life she was going to design after her own needs and desires. 

It felt strangely liberating to merely form these resolutions in her head, to raise those faint, smothered ideas into life after her insecurities and fears of being egoistic had put them to sleep. For the first time in weeks, _months_, Azira felt courageous, brave enough to sacrifice living conditions comfortingly familiar yet unbearably stifling to build something new. She had missed the feeling of standing on your own two feet, of being your own person, and she was bathing in its bliss with Anathema on her side. 

All the more it actually crushed her to see all that hard-earned strength and control getting taken away within seconds. 

“Excuse me for interrupting!” Gabriel’s voice whirred through the speakers affixed on the walls around them as the music suddenly stopped. He was standing on the stage next to the band’s lead singer making some space for him and his announcement. “I have something important to say.”

Azira’s blood froze inside her veins. 

“Two years ago, almost to the day, my life had changed for good. I was blessed with the most beautiful, perfect girl there is. My world, my sky, my sunshine. Where-…ah, there you are, baby!”

Hot spotlight hit Azira’s face like a fuming fist. Immediately, a circle of curious bystanders formed around her. Only the insults Anathema muttered under her breath beside her reassured her she wasn’t alone, wasn’t slowly losing her mind in this complete bewilderment. 

He wouldn’t dare. 

“From the minute I saw you I knew that we are truly meant to be together,” he went on, grinning a pearly-white toothy smile that could be in competition with the most handsome news presenter’s. “To quote _The sound of music_: ‘There were times when we would look at each other, oh Mother, I could hardly breathe.’ My sunshine, I don’t need to climb every mountain, ford every stream or follow every rainbow because I’ve already found my dream.”

He wouldn’t dare to do this right now, right here. He couldn’t possibly be this unbelievably complacent, this self-pleased to put her into a situation like this, knowing she hated this kind of attention- He couldn’t be so much of a _fucking_-

“-_bastard_,” Azira whispered.

The people around them gasped in awe. Phones got whipped out, filming this magical moment suburban dreams were made out of. 

“I love you and intend on doing so forevermore. So without much further ado…”

In a melodramatic fashion, Gabriel’s hand was reaching for his jacket’s inner pocket. Suddenly, Azira couldn’t tell anymore if it was the spotlight’s torrid beam or this rarely experienced emotion spreading its claws over her mind, but the temperature inside the hall seemed to have skyrocketed. She was furious. Positively enraged and certain that she never wanted anyone to make her feel like this, this small and vulnerable, ever again. 

He revealed a black box. The diamond sitting in its velvety bed glistened with a piercing shimmer. 

“Azira Fell, will you-…”

Fighting her way through the paralysed spectators of the show, she left Gabriel with the most confused expression in his face she’s ever seen behind. Everything went bloodcurdlingly quiet. 

“Azira? Azira, where are you going-“ he croaked, dropping the microphone onto the floor with a loud crackle that probably caused all present jarring hearing damage, and gracelessly followed her as she fled outside. 

The mumbling started anew, drawing wide circles together with awkward laughter and concerned looks, but Azira didn’t notice much of it. As she stepped outside, all irritating noises were muffled by the pouring rain that had rampaged undisturbed while they had been occupied with the ball inside. Howling wind accompanied its fall of fat, heavy droplets, and soon, Azira found herself drenched in cold, itchy water. But it wouldn’t keep her from running, balancing tremulously on her heels when her soaked hair began to stuck onto her cheeks just as her dress clung to her shaking body. 

The discovery of a black Bentley parked under the weeping willow next to the gymnasium occurred simultaneously with the realisation that Gabriel was actually following her, almost already breathing down her neck, and she cried out loud in desperate relief. 

Panting, she tossed her shoes aside and let her bare feet toddle through freezing puddles to finally, oh finally, reach the car. Something the occupant hadn’t seen coming:

When Azira yanked the passenger door open, Crowley blurted a greatly unladylike cuss. Lifting her car keys protectively as some kind of weapon, she stared at the sudden intruder, just to exhale relaxed. 

“_Fucking hell_, angel, you startled me! Man, you look like a runaway bride-”

“I’m never going to say this again but I need you to drive, Crowley, I need you to drive _fast_!” 

For a split second, Crowley looked at her in befuddled misbelief just to blink it away and immediately do as she was told. As soon as Azira had heaved her dripping body onto the seat’s leather, the engine was roaring like a spitting feline predator ready to attack, and they dashed through the street as if chased by the devil. 

One quick glimpse into her rear-vision mirror told Crowley that it wasn’t quite the devil pursuing Azira but someone close in inconvenience: Gabriel definitely was a hot runner-up for the spot of the last person or entity Crowley wanted to see and judging by Azira’s pale face, she presumably shared the sentiment. 

Crowley didn’t ask and just drove them out of sight. 

Eventually, they had passed a few streets and came to halt at a car park in the city centre where no one would find them far too early. Crowley turned off the engine but let the radio quietly serenade _”These are the days of our life”_ to them in the background. 

“So…” 

She leaned against the armrest and propped her chin onto her palm, looking at the girl beside her with an investigating glance over the rim of her tinted glasses. 

“That was…a thing that happened.” 

“I suppose it was,” Azira replied, shaking with still lingering consternation that overcame her every time she thought back to the disaster that just happened. A few drops of rain dripped off her and hit the car’s dashboard. “Oh…! I’m awfully sorry for ruining your car seats! Leather shouldn’t be exposed to water, should it? Oh my, I-…”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s nothing we can’t fix. We’ve done worse things in here.” 

“…right.” 

Crowley’s attempt at lightening the mood had just resulted in both twiddling their thumbs nervously. Her head declared a state of exception and for an emergency measure, it apparently confiscated her capability of forming coherent sentences. 

“I…err, so, I…you know. The stuff I said earlier.” 

“Yes?”

“I meant it. All of it.” 

Azira didn’t instantly react, and it drove Crowley insane. 

“Especially the part where I said I was sorry.” 

“Hm.” 

“…I really am.”

“…”

“Unbelievably so.”

Finally, Azira looked up from her folded hands lying in her lap and sighed. 

“Gabriel just proposed to me.”

Crowley’s mouth opened baffled, it just as well could have caught some flies. 

“And you said…?”

The other just frowned in a testy way, tutting at her. 

“He was quoting _The sound of music_, what was I supposed to say?” 

As if provoking the other, they locked eyes acutely  
– and then burst out in hearty laughter, letting off all steam and tension that had been sizzling between them. 

“Oh no, he didn’t!” Crowley wheezed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “He doesn’t know you at all, the smug bastard, now does he?” 

“I think he does. He simply doesn’t care that much.” 

Shaking her head humming, Crowley slipped her glasses from her nose and bathed in the familiar warmth of the moment for a second. Her fingers hesitated but then slowly reached over to Azira’s wrist, gingerly drawing circles on her skin as a delicate invitation. 

“Well, I care a great deal about you.” 

"...dear."

Crowley felt like choking on her tongue as Azira reluctantly twisted her hand to respond to the innocent touch. 

The rain pattered down onto the bonnet in an irregular, forceful rhythm just as their hearts did race in their chests. 

“When we didn’t talk to each other,” Azira began while letting her thumb brush over Crowley’s rosy knuckles, “I was feeling miserable, weak.”

“…Angel-“

“We’re both stupidly stubborn and incompetent when talking about feelings.”

Crowley chuckled. “You’ve got a point there.” 

“No, my point is that I never want us to ever fall out like this again. We definitely need to improve our communication if we want…_this_ to work,” she said, tenderly squeezing Crowley’s hand in her own. 

“By this you mean-“ Crowley’s voice faltered and instead of words she returned the fond squeeze. “_This_?” 

“Yes, exactly.” A little embarrassed, Azira’s eyelashes fluttered in her flushed face but it didn’t protect her lips from a sweet smile of honey and genuine affection. “Admittedly, I’d…need us to take slow steps. There’s a lot we have to talk about beforehand, many things to figure out, but…if you still want to ‘_ruin_ our friendship’ as you had morbidly put it earlier on, I’d love to try.”

Frantically, Crowley blinked away the tears in the corners of her eyes, biting on the insides of her cheeks. 

“Oh…good…I mean…wow…! I-“

She watched Azira place a soft kiss on her hand, struck with awe as if she was performing a puzzling magic act. 

“Thanks for catching me, Crowley.” 

Crowley’s fried brain blue-screened like an ancient computer. 

“I love you too”, she blurted out, making Azira raise one eyebrow. 

“I didn’t say that”, she teased, challenging her with a cheeky glow in her eyes. 

“Yes, you did.” 

Azira’s face softened.

“Yes, I did.” 

It took them both a while to tear away from each other’s eyes; Azira was wallowing in liquid gold cathartically coating her heart again as Crowley sunk down to the bottom of the sea. 

Absolutely besotted, Crowley flashed a cherishing grin. 

“What about a hot shower, something to nibble and a little cuddling at my place? How does that sound to you?”

“Tempting.” 

They shared a soppy laugh, and Crowley started the motor again, blindly fishing for Azira’s hand after engaging a gear. 

Azira looked at their intertwined fingers embracing each other like they had been originally chiselled out of the same piece of marble and sighed delightedly. Her eyes darted over to her other hand on which a golden ring sat accusatorily. 

Without losing hold of Crowley for long, she flicked it off and inspected it for a glimpse. 

On its inside, the words _”True love can wait”_ had been engraved, nestling against her finger for almost two years now. 

She mused.  
And then, she wound the car window down and quickly tossed it into their passing surroundings. 

“What was that?” Crowley asked but Azira merely shook her head with a soft smile. 

They’ve waited long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading ♥  
I'm planning on writing a sequel which is why I put this in a series now! So, if you're interested, make sure to subscribe to it ♥  
Have a super nice day!!!


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